


Private Fears in Public Places

by obriensbetch



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Angst and Humor, BAMF Lydia Martin, Bullying, But mostly angst, Crazy Peter, Dead Laura Hale, Derek is Already Head Over Heels, Emotional Growth Jackson Whittemore, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Derek, Hale Family Feels, Heart Pining, High School Student Stiles Stilinski, Hospitalization, Jackson Has Issues, Jackson Needs a Hug, Jealous Derek, M/M, Meddling Friends, Minor Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Minor Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate, Mutual Pining, Non-Mutual Pining, Oblivious Derek, Oh my god and The Pining, Opposites Attract, POV Alternating, Pack Family, Pack Involvement, Penis Pining, Pining Boyd, Pining Derek, Pining Jackson, Pining Stiles, Protective Derek, Sad Stiles Stilinski, Sassy Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski are Brothers, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Slow Burn, Soul-Searching, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Stiles in Denial, Teasing Scott, Telepathy, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Werewolf Jackson Whittemore, all the pining, and hurt, so much pining, stiles is a dork
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-24 03:45:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7492179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obriensbetch/pseuds/obriensbetch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott thinks everything bad that happens to his brother is endlessly amusing. He has also expressed that apparently he takes everything “far too seriously" and that he needs to learn to laugh at himself. Stiles ignores his brother's suddenly sage advice, in favor of silently cursing his luck and inevitable fate. Although, of course, he knows he has not been singled out by the universe to be literally assigned a future, as if he were born in the nineteenth century, he can't help resenting that he was unluckily one of the two in every hundred.</p><p>--</p><p>Soulmates AU / Sterek</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Let's Get These Teen Hearts Beating Faster, Faster

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a soulmate au (as stated in the tags, pls see them for more detail) that, to be honest, has just been forged thru a sick obsession w/ the soulmate trope. i have been inspired by dozens of soulmate fics and i would list them except it would take way waaaay too long to track all my favorites down
> 
> so anyway, pls enjoy!! 
> 
> p.s. be warned this is not just slow burn it is slow slow sloooooow ass burn -- emphasis on the slow
> 
> p.p.s. the title is the name of a song by the front porch step
> 
> thanks so much for reading guys, enjoy

Scott thinks everything bad that happens to his brother is endlessly amusing. He has also expressed that apparently he takes everything “far too seriously" and that he needs to learn to laugh at himself. Stiles ignores his brother's suddenly sage advice, in favor of silently cursing his luck and inevitable fate. Although, of course, he knows he has not been singled out by the universe to be literally assigned a future, as if he were born in the nineteenth century, he can't help resenting that he was unluckily one of the two in every hundred. He just hates that he is now—and forever will be—a statistic; unchanging, utterly predictable.

People usually feel jarred by the word ‘never’, but what scares him is ‘forever’. It's one thing to yearn for something that you will never have. It's another thing entirely to be stuck with something forever. Stiles motto on the subject has always been that if you can't have something, eventually you will forget about it; however, when you get stuck with something you hate, it's all you will ever think about. That’s his biggest fear, to be tied to one place or person. All he can think about is the whole world and how it’s all there for him, and why would he waste such a gift of a life in order to become a mundane, stereotypical cycle?

Scott punches his shoulder with increasing ferocity from the passenger seat until he meets his eyes. He smirks again, and the giggles of amusement bubble up once more. He's laughing because of Stiles’ distress, he thinks hysterically. He doesn't care about what he’s going through, he just thinks it’s hilarious that it's causing him such discomfort.  Unfortunately the thought only adds to his distress.

"Dude, you’re eyes are endless lifetimes of creepy!" He taunts mockingly.

Stiles groans and slams on the brake as his gaze flicks back to the congested highway. The windshield wipers feverishly sling icy slush to either side of the car, depicting the line of vehicles stopped up ahead of them. They are only able to inch forward every few minutes. Staring out at the inactive obstructions, he suddenly feels trapped.

"Scott, it is not a joke. It's ensnaring—“

"You're so dramatic! You are not a caged animal, Stiles, you're just Claimed."

"What's the difference," He mutters rhetorically.

His brother is groaning as if the pettiness actually pains him, but he can't help himself. It doesn't feel fair. No one ever lead him to believe that this could happen to him. Of course its studied in school and watched in sappy movies and joked and laughed about with friends, but not once did anyone ever pull him aside and say, "Stiles, you know, even though there is only .02 percent chance of you being a genetic mutant, you need to let that be an option in your mind."

Nobody ever did that, and when, on a Wednesday morning less than a month ago, Stiles woke up on fire with what felt like two knitting knives digging into his eye sockets, he couldn't place the sensation. His heart sped as he peeled his sweat-slick body away from the soaked comforter. He glared into the oval-shaped mirror across the room, the agony contorting his pale face. A myriad of frantic thoughts flooded his brain, forcing him to leap from the bed. He felt so overwhelmed with disorientation and tense, underused muscles that he almost collapsed, nausea reeling within him. Later, at their family physician's office, his father, mother, brothers and he were told that, yes, it was rare and, yes, it was unexpected, but, yes, he had been Claimed.

It was terrifying, to be honest. He could've been deep-sea diving or solar sky diving or partying on the coast of Mexico or leaning off the Eiffel Tower in Paris, instead of asleep in his bed. And now he can never go to any of those places or do any of those things for fear of incapacitation. The roiling fire that sits at the base of his stomach grows almost unbearable if he leaves town, much less the country. Doctors advise minimal travel once the heat sets in, because as long as you don't know where your Soulmate is, going anywhere too far away can cause physical, sometimes terminal, injury.

Stiles is literally stuck in this tiny hick town until the universe forces him into his negative magnet.

"Stiles, go!" Scott's voice lurches his focus back to the road where the traffic has dwindled and the rain has steadily picked up. He jerks the car into motion, waving an arm out of the window in apology to the patiently waiting car behind.

"Anyway, so when are your eyes going to start glowing?" Scott inquires innocently.

"Shut up, Dog-breath," he responds, heartlessly.

But Scott continues dutifully, as if he hadn't spoken. "Because I really can't wait for that part. Imagine! Me, the brother of Catwoman!"

"Scott!" He is definitely rising his voice now, the fear and dread and shame a tsunami pushing him toward wrath. "Just shut up! You don't understand any of this, _just shut up_!"

It's quiet beside him, and he immediately regrets his words. For all his ribbing, Scott is an exceptionally kind brother, never tolling out noogies or playing humiliating pranks like their older brother, Boyd, liked to. They stuck together, Scott and Stiles, sometimes out of necessity—Boyd is six years older than them, and a fully developed wolf—but mostly because they were besties—Stiles’ words. They were the two scrawny losers that never got picked for class projects. Scott’s asthma and low self-esteem kept him out of sports and popularity contests, while Stiles’ ADHD and nerdy interests made him a prime target for bullying.

But they had always had each other, sharing everything, and that had been enough. Until they hit puberty and Scott’s wolf gene surfaced. Suddenly—as if granted a fairy god-parent—he wasn’t constrained by ailments. In fact, he was the hottest, fittest guy on the lacrosse team, bagging babes like nobody’s business. And that was all fine and great, really it was. Stiles was thrilled for his brother. Everyone was just catching on to what he had known all along. But things hadn’t been the same after that. How could they be? His brothers are wolves, and he’s just some kid that does a lot of pointless research.

Still, Stiles can tell Scott is about to get serious, because he always adopts this very special frown. Stiles coined it Scott’s Congested face years ago. And there is so much energy, so much passion, in his voice that it almost doesn't matter what he's saying. But everyone knows that when he gets this way, you listen hard, because it always ends up being important.

When he speaks he sounds calm.

"I understand, Stiles. You’re the one that doesn’t seem to get it.”

Stiles is silent, both convinced he is completely right and also afraid of backing himself into a corner in case he’s not. But when he glances over, he catches those huge, sad eyes, and all his defenses dissolve.

"What I understand is that you have been given an assurance. You’ve been _Claimed_ by your Soulmate. You will never have to worry about growing old without anyone. I know that one of these days you're going to bump into some guy on the street, and suddenly you'll never have to search again. It won't matter that you can't be wild and careless and run away, because you will have this calm, safe home. What I understand is that you can live your life and never worry again.

"I know that I will never have what you're destined for. I can live a thousand years on a thousand planets with a thousand people, and I will never ever get to experience real, pure love. All I know is you complain and complain about how you're stuck, you're tied down, your whole life is ruined--and sure, you don't have all the freedom you want, but isn't this a fair trade? You get to love and care and feel with someone who won’t ever _want_ to deny you, and that's an experience I'll never get."

Sometimes, Stiles’ brother is too wise for his taste.

^-^-^-^-^

Derek doesn’t think he'll ever get used to that gnawing ache that resonates in the bottom of his gut and pulls him toward certain moments. It's the oddest thing he’s ever felt: to feel such a strong urge to do something without having any logical reason at all. Like how if he’s ever near it around five, his gut lurches at the smell of pizza and every nerve in his body is willing him to _go find that pizza._ It's unnerving, really. But the harder he tries to resist, the more uncomfortable and painful it becomes. It's easier just to give in to it. So if he’s in the car heading to the grocery store and suddenly he feels the need to veer left, he turns at the next left.

His uncle says that most of the sensations you feel after the heat sets are so alien for people that they almost always try to resist them for as long as they can. They don't want to believe they like what they're feeling. When he asked why someone wouldn't want to like something that was good for them, Peter just said he wouldn't understand.

"Most people feel resentful for losing the choice," he had murmured, tonelessly. "You're different from most people."

Derek guesses he’s lucky to have someone in his life whose been Claimed before. This way, he’s not _completely_ surrounded by people trying to understand, or trying not to resent his luck. To have someone who knows exactly what he’s feeling and not just what they taught in elementary school; to have someone who knows what he can and cannot hear, what will make everything okay and what will make the world fall apart, and how to avoid those things. He knows he’s lucky, compared to 97 percent of the people in the world who have never thought of Soulmates as anything more than a story, like walking on the moon or owning your own island. Knowing it’s possible, but not in your lifetime. Not for someone in your life.

Claiming is so rare that a lot of people don't even believe that Peter actually was. He’s a bit of a recluse, and doesn't try to prove it to them, though he could if he wanted to. Every set of Soulmates has something in common. In school, they call them Niches, because it was how people would identify a Soulmate as theirs, back in the days when it wasn't all that uncommon to find six or seven couplings of Soulmates in every town. But it's just another form of taking claim, like an engagement ring or a hickey. Something to say "Hands off, he/she's mine."

Nowadays, it is more uncommon to find at least one coupling in every country. Still the Niche is one of the first and usually most intrusive parts about the Claiming. Derek’s uncle’s looks similar to a tattoo, but felt more like a branding. One night at the bar downtown, after three victories over the pool table, he felt a blinding fiery pain on his lower back. He panicked; as a werewolf, his mind had jumped to hunters and magic. He drove home in icy agony.

Derek remembers the noise of Peter smashing through the house at one o'clock in the morning, confused by the early hour. He found his sister and uncle in the starch semi-cleaned kitchenette, dabbing his swollen and puffy skin with a wet wad of paper towel. Laura, his big sister, turned and glanced anxiously over at him as he approached.

"Look at this, Derek, what's this look like to you?" Their uncle’s words slurred, and a sticky sweet-and-sour smell wafted off his breath.

Derek had frowned and analyzed the abrasion closely. It had looked a lot like a spindly intertwined tree tattoo in his young mind, and for an instant he imagined it was one. Had my forty year old uncle gotten a tattoo? It wasn’t much of a stretch, given his history with slightly skewed decisions. Still, this didn’t really seem like Uncle Peter. And since when could Werewolves get tattoos?

Even then he knew what it meant, though. Sensation racing through his body, he could feel what had been described to him in textbooks and love novels and cheesy flicks. You never lose a Niche, even if you lose your Soulmate.

Peter refused to take Derek to the doctor when it happened. His excuse was that there wasn't anything they could tell him that he couldn't (and better). He knows he just wants to help in his own distorted way, thinks that it's important for him to have personal and familial help during all this, but honestly he didn't think he needed it. Maybe he’s still in shock, or numb due to a pre-existing lack of personal opinion, but Derek feels kind of numb to the idea of having a Soulmate.

Of course, he understands that it is this huge paradigm and that nothing about my life will be ever be simple again, but he just can't make himself care all that much. He does what he’s told, and just tries not to get all hung up on the weird emotions that he keeps feeling, emotions that certainly do not belong to him, and that's about it.

After he found out, Derek’s friend from junior high, Isaac, told him this gory story about this black guy that woke up one morning with a tattoo of a bear claw on his ass cheek. He was so afraid that he had gotten mated with a black bear that he panicked and tried to hop a plane to Asia or somewhere really far. However, because he fled so suddenly and sporadically so soon after his Claiming, his head literally disconnected from his spine--decapitating him. Derek had wrestled him to the ground for that one.

Derek had always liked Isaac the most out of his few friends, mostly due to the fact that he always knew what he was getting from him. Isaac wasn't shy about anything; if he's lying, it's bold-faced. If he's being honest with you, you better listen up, because you are most definitely about to get smacked with the truth. Hard. Basically, Isaac doesn't half-ass anything. He's not the type. Derek appreciates that, seems a lot of himself in that aspect of the guy. He guesses that's why he had told him. It unnerved him that he'd chosen bold-faced. It made him wonder how the rest of the town would react.

He frowns at the ground now as he kicks dusty gravel ahead of him, hands shoved into his jeans. He imagines a camera following him at an imperfect state, his voice-over scratchy and monotone as he describes his melodramatic thoughts. He does this sometimes: imagining ways to make his life into a scene from a movie. Laura once said that it was a way of distancing himself from his life, a way to deflect responsibility and ownership. She thinks he’s going to have a mental breakdown one day and develop split personality disorder. It doesn’t matter that Derek’s already reminded her several times that that is definitely not how split-personality disorder works.

He is glancing up and to the left at the long expanse of field that separates his tiny little town from the rest of the world when he has the thought.

The field is dead, the grass yellowed, speckles of shrubs whittling in the wind, patches of red dirt that have mounded into small foothills over the years. It's odd; all his life, when he has passed this stretch of earth and gazed upon its emptiness, he always saw death and heat and dry wind. It was like an omen or a warning: The world is dry and empty and full of death. Stay where you're safe.

He knew it was a cowardly thought, but the truth is he didn't mind the thought of never leaving home. This is where he grew up. He know these streets and these people. He know how to walk these streets; he know how to talk to these people. This is his world and, sure, it's quiet and dull, but it's also stable. And he always knows what to expect. He doesn't have to worry about what's going to happen to him tomorrow, because he already knows. He doesn’t have to walk on eggshells anymore.

But today as he’s glancing up at that expanse of field, a thought that feels foreign, and at the same time, familiar bubbles into the forefront of his mind.

The thought is simply, _‘Wow, he could run three fields that far, and he would still feel too tied down’_. The desire to speed away from town and run as fast as he can is so strong and invasive, enveloping the entirety his mind and sight, and then just as suddenly it is vacuumed out of him, yanking at his brain with such force that he feels deflated and weak, eyes bruised and beaten. He thinks humorlessly that his brain has just been raped.

Derek knows immediately what this is, that it was not _his_ thought he just heard. It is his Soulmate. His uncle had warned him about this aspect. He said that it was rare, and if it did happen it would only happen once, but at times Soulmates could experience a reversal of thoughts, as if they are reading each other's minds, for just a split second. For a second, he feels utterly numb. The invasion of privacy is so real, so debilitating. But also he can't stop thinking about the words. Why was that the sentence that they had been thinking? He can feel himself becoming alarmed, heart beat picking up as dread and anxiety seizes his muscles. The disgust, the anger and resent were directed at _him_. They’re mad at him. Oh god.

He hadn't even realized he'd stopped walking, but now he’s crouching down with his hands on my knees. A sudden wash of nausea roils his stomach. The misery he feels so deeply and out of nowhere has him even more disoriented in confusion. The multitude of disappointment and regret at a strangers disdain for him is baffling. Why does he care, when all along he’s said that having a Soulmate is meaningless to him? Why can’t he think of anything else?

After a few moments of steadying his breath, he is able to regain is standing position. His gut is taut and used with the exercise. He shifts, releasing a surge of adrenaline, and jogs home in the semi-darkness, the wind and the speed making his slick forehead and restless stomach feel better.

^-^-^-^

"Weird."

Stiles’ head snaps up from the canvas to the figure lingering in the doorframe of his room. It's Malia, with a vintage baseball cap slightly askew on her head, long dark hair sticking out underneath.

"What?" he snaps, thoughts of defenses at the ready.

"Your paintings are usually so fluid and sporadic. It's weird how detailed this one is. It's nice, don't get me wrong,” She assures him quickly, adding, “But...weird. You know?"

He quickly eases himself. He has been having to leash his snarky retorts of late. He has to remind himself that not everyone is mocking him like Scott.

"Oh, yeah... It's just something...that came to me." He gestures jerkily, turning back to the reds and yellows and dulls. It is the image that had obstructed his vision last week; he hadn't been able to get it out of his head ever since he’d been ambushed by it that first day. But he is not going to tell Malia that. In fact, he hasn't told anyone about that oddity. He had been out running on I-75, parallel to the beach when suddenly all he could see was a large expanse of dead grass and red dirt. Hiss feet faltered in shock, and he slipped and landed on my hands and knees on the hard hot sidewalk—feeling like the lanky, awkward freshman all over again—but all he could see was that stretch of grass. Before he could even begin to panic, a thought crossed my mind: _Home_. That's it, just _home_. For the first time in his life, he felt calm instead of antsy. His bones were grounded, his mind was clear, not jumbled. He was suddenly tired of the insistent strain of the coiling and stretching rubber band, taut in his gut, making him feel queasy.

And as quickly as it had come, it was gone. He stood up slowly, wiped my bare legs of any pebbles or debris. He began running again and had a thought, a resentful, cruel thought. He hated that being Claiming allowed someone's thoughts inside his head. His mind has always been a haven, a personal place, and something he knew that no one else had rights to. Scott may be hot, and Lydia may be wise, and Boyd may be strong, but Stiles had his mind. And what gave anyone the right to invade that?

 A few minutes later, he thought he felt a sickness, an anguish, roll over him like a cloud of AC. But he couldn't be sure.

Malia sits on the paint bucket a few feet away. It's comical to watch her spindly, dancer legs squatting awkwardly so near the floor. She likes to watch him paint; she says he could rant in her ear all day, but she learns more about his mood from his face while he paints in one hour of that time. She likes trying to read his moods. Malia's big on puzzles.

Stiles never told her, because he knows she like it, but he loathes to be watched while he’s painting. It bugs him, often times causes him to get anxious and rush to finish and end up messing up. But mostly, it feels too personal. It’s not like his paintings are works of art. They’re mostly just feelings in color. Usually hey don't amount to any scene, almost never depict objects. It’s more like seas of blues and greens and yellows or flames of orange, red, pink and brown.

The sheriff called most of his work "Mutt patterns." His mom, Melissa, said that he just hadn't find his muse yet. But for Stiles, it wasn't about the turn-out. It was twisting colors and lines and swirls into something that looked a little bit like how he felt inside. One of his most accomplished pieces is a finished canvas hanging on his wall where he had just taken a thousand different shades of colors and splattered them on until he couldn't see the canvas underneath anymore. He presumes Malia is clever to use his work as his mood ring.

"It's beautiful, actually," She murmured, her voice going uncharacteristically gentle.

Stiles stared at his stained fingers, knowing what was coming. He could feel the tension in the air every time she was about to say something about it. But he couldn't do this now, not this week, of all weeks. He turned to face her, just as she began.

"Malia—“

"About the Niche—“

They paused, both instinctively waiting on the other to go.

"Okay. You already know how I feel about it, so I’m just going to say it," Malia took a breath. "It means something. I know you say it doesn’t, and I even believe you truly mean it.. right now, but…. Stiles, you have a Soulmate. Someone out there is waiting for you—"

"Malia, I’m in love with you. I don’t care that some stranger is out there. _You’re_ right here."

She laughed breathlessly, eyes downcast, and when she spoke her voice wavered. “I love you, too. I would never leave you. But.”

"But." He repeated with a humorless laugh. "There's always that, huh."

“Stiles,” her voice was a little stronger now, and she met his gaze. “You’re Claimed—“

"Malia, I'm Claimed. Yeah. But I didn’t as for this. I didn’t ask for my life to get hijacked by some haphazard gene for the eighteenth century. _I’m_ the boss of me,” he pronounced indignantly, but his heart thudded unevenly as he watched a tear fall from his girlfriend’s cheek.

"Stiles. Just do me a favor, and don’t be a complete ass, alright?”

He watched her stand stiffly and make for the door. He wants to say something, anything to help lighten the mood, but he knows this is rhetoric and even if it wasn’t, nothing would come out anyway.

He turns his head, hating this conversation for the way it's severing the closest relationship he’s ever had. He wishes he could take it back.

"Right," Malia says through a breath. It sounds like the end.

He’s scared to watch her leave, afraid of the way he'll feel when he know she's gone too far to reach. But at the last second, he can't stand it. He’s looking up and seeing a stranger. She's a sad person, not his feisty Malia. Then she's gone, just like that.

He stares at the painting and it is beautiful, but he can't look at it for another second. He walks to the window and stares out at the sunset, seeing the silver Beetle whine out of his driveway, seemingly out of his life, for good.

^-^-^-^

"Why you? _Why you_?" Erica nearly screams. He has to shush her. "Gee, Derek, if you don't want it, I'd be happy to take it off your hands."

She lets herself sink forward into the sand, her elbows out, hands under her chin. Derek scoffs, already coming up with thirty more arguments for why he would gladly expunge himself of the burden. Instead he stares up at the suns reflection on the water, remembering the feeling of disgust and loathing that had been directed toward him during that moment by Granger Street. Could that really have been an emotion directed straight from his Soulmate? It was so strong and definite, already, and they haven't even met yet. For the first time since he found out, he is beginning to feel very apprehensive about this whole thing. Wasn’t the whole point of this to cut out the skeptical of it all?

Jasper, his best friend’s newest boy-toy, whines pitifully at the comment, but when Erica makes no move to soften the blow of her remark—something that’s not surprising for Derek, who has known her for years—he develops a disgruntled frown and shifts stiffly away from the other two.

"But seriously, Derek. What could you possibly have to complain about?" Erica asks, her tone now serious.

"Hey, no one's complaining. I just said I don't feel all that lucky. I mean, just because we’re Soulmates doesn't mean we are going to get along."

"That's exactly what it means. It's like having a relationship that you know will end well," She argues, eyebrow raising in defiance.

But Derek’s thoughts dart to his uncle as he responds, "How do you figure that?"

"Okay, well. Being in a relationship means either you love this person, you want to get married and grow old with them; or you like this person, you want to hang out with them or have sex with them, but eventually you'll break up over some disagreement or someone else, or you'll just grow apart. With your Soulmate, there is only the one option."

He sighs, head pounding in frustration. He feels as dull as the sand under him, not exactly up for a debate. "I guess," he murmurs under his breath.

"Oh come on! They're still human!" Jasper exclaims, confidence riding on his petty annoyance. "I don't think you know what you're talking about, Erica. It's not like they lose their free will."

"It's not about losing control, Jaz, it's about not wanting the control anymore. It's about realizing that this person is your better half, and that it's okay to be satisfied with that."

The bickering continues back and forth, but Derek closes his eyes and shuts the sun and their voices out. He imagines bumping into someone on the street and when he looks up into their eyes to apologize, suddenly being in love with them. He can't see it, somehow. Maybe it's because he’s never been in love before, so he don't know how it feels when it's spontaneous. Maybe he’s so afraid of winding up getting hurt again that he just doesn’t _want_ to—But either way, he just doesn’t want this to affect his life.

And something deep in his gut is telling him that that’s the one guarantee.


	2. Heartilation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i forgot to make this a multi chaptered fic when i first posted, so i just want to have it on the record: this will have multiple chapters!
> 
> hope you guys enjoy
> 
> p.s. ch title is the name of a song by ajj

School drags. Every day is hellishly slow, especially for someone light-years ahead of the curriculum and suffering from a severe case of ADHD, but today in particular has been brutal. Ever since Stiles woke up this morning, there has been a distinct aching pull in his stomach, worse than normal, a twisting of the muscles that makes concentration impossible. He hasn't heard one thing all day. His whole body feels as if it’s trembling with tension. He keeps thinking of a wind-up toy. It's unsettling.

The doctor said that this feeling was very normal, that it would be odd if he didn't feel these 'urges' every so often. But the cause of them are annoyingly vague. He said it could mean that his Soulmate and he are having similar thoughts or emotions, have nearly crossed paths, or one of them is having strong feelings toward the other. But it could also be the foreboding of their meeting.

Stiles’ oldest friend—besides Scott—Lydia, has lived with controlled anxiety and panic attacks all her life. One night, when they were at a party freshman year, Stiles caught her from falling in the pool during a particularly severe panic attack, and later he asked her what the attacks felt like. She told him it was like she was suddenly very aware of all the parts of her body at once, that all she could do was scream until her lungs collapsed. It must've shown on his face that he wasn't impressed by this, because she turned, looked him in the eye, and said, "Have you ever gotten really nervous before a speech or something and your fingers and toes get all tingly? Well, have you ever been so tingly that it was in your whole body? No? Well, have you ever felt so tingly that you couldn’t focus on anything outside of your body? Couldn’t move? Couldn’t cry?"

He never asked her to describe it again. He knew it was real; he had suffered from anxiety attacks, he just couldn't imagine something so ordinary causing someone so much trouble. But today, with all this tension and energy broiling around inside him, his heart thumping with adrenaline and fear, he was a little scared he was about to get first-hand experience.

"..And that's how Adolf Hitler and the Germans got America involved in the World War 2..."

"Boring," Lydia sighs against Stiles’ shoulder, as he is the only student in the school even remotely on par with her.

Lydia is a genius and a banshee, which makes her a double-threat. Can’t get much better than that, right? Wrong. Stiles has always said that, because she is a perfect specimen, she just had to give the gene lottery one last try, and _boom!_ She’s also alarmingly beautiful. It has, however, made it hard for anyone to get close to her—as one could imagine. Hell, Stiles and Scott have known her since kindergarten, and she only started addressing them by their actual names their sophomore year.

Now, though, in their senior year, Stiles and Lydia have become increasingly close. They are practically the only two in the school that can hope to keep up with each other academically, and because of this, have identical schedules (give or take a few electives). Plus, they both know what it’s like to be a werewolf’s emergency number. As the resident banshee, Lydia is even more widely known by local packs than she is by local frats. Add in her accumulated familiarity with wolves like Jackson, Aiden, and now Cora, an emancipated Omega that showed up their junior year, and she’s nearly as relied on as Stiles.

"So how's that whole Claimed thing going?" She asks, under her breath, eyes never leaving Mr. Farber as he bends to pick up a piece of paper that had flitted to the ground during his lecture.

"Mmm," Stiles mumbles, reluctant to venture into that topic.

Lydia glances over at him now, eyebrow raised.

"That bad?" She doodles 'Cora' onto her desk and then quickly erases it. "What's it like, knowing you have someone like that?"

"Does the phrase 'ball and chain' mean anything to you?"

She laughs pristinely, then sighs and gazes seriously into Stiles’ eyes. Hating the attention, he tries to swat her away, but she ends that nonsense with a swift bat to the back of the head.

“Your eyes aren't getting any brighter,” She observes clinically, voice softening only when she adds, “That’s a good sign, right?”

After a long pause in which he refuses to give in to the subject, she leans closer and whispers, "So you've met him, then? Does he go here?"

Stiles is just coming up with a witty retort when Jessie leans backward from her seat in front of them and whispers, "So it's true then? You've been Claimed?"

He quickly rolls his eyes at Lydia for drawing the attention of their dim peers. "Yeah."

"Wow. I heard you get, like, disfigured the longer it takes for you to meet them." She's now turning his whole body sideways. Her face is eager to his response, ready for new gossip.

Stiles can’t help the sarcasm in response to her ignorant tone of voice. "No, Genius, it doesn’t disfigure you. Out sick the day they talked about it in Pre-K?" When she only shrugs, Stiles continues intellectually. "It's just, like, a stamp. Like a tag that both of us have, to prove that we're..."

"—Meant to be?" Lydia cuts in, her voice smug.

At the words, Stiles feels a lurch in his gut, a sudden awareness outside of his own. He adjusts restlessly in his seat, hoping to shake it off. Hoping this isn’t another weird Soulmate thing. He gives an absent noise of admission, mind elsewhere.

 “Still, I’ve heard some pretty ugly stories, Soulmates losing limbs and faces melting off--and what’s going to happen with your eyes? Aren’t you worried you could, like, go blind or something?” Jessie’s voice carries as Stiles' thoughts begin to spiral, and others around them turn their attention toward the conversation.

Stiles feels a spasm of fear at the idea of braving the whole classroom worth of questions. He is barely hanging on by a thread with his own internal pressure. He can’t handle the expectations and attention of his friends as well. His eyes squeeze shut, hoping, begging for an escape.

And escape is exactly what he’s given.

Instantly, the world around him transforms into something foreign. He feels vertigo as his nerves recognize wind whipping by him, wondering how he’s suddenly flying. But that’s not it, because his eyes are stinging with the speed, yet they still catch every twig and leaf they pass. Stiles is in a forest. He’s _racing_ through a forest, and how did he get here? His gut jerks nauseously, like a bag of warm liquids in a speeding car—sloshing about, but not actually slipping out anywhere.

The feeling is terrifying, the speed is nauseating, and the vertigo is gut-wrenching, and yet… Stiles feels more relaxed, more at peace, than he has in months—maybe years. Something about this place he is in, the essence of it. It is familiar, and calming. It feels like taking your pants off at the end of the day. It feels right. He feels right.

He.

_He._

Oh god, Stiles thinks, eyes snapping open to stare dumbly into Jessie’s eyes. His heart races with excitement. He can’t believe his eyes, his mind. Thousands of questions clog up his head, making his ears feel as if they are stuffed with cotton. Was that real? Why had it feels so… Was he seeing through his Soulmate’s eyes? And most of all… Is Stiles’ Soulmate a _werewolf_?

^-^-^-^-^

“It’s been three _years_ , Derek, and you suddenly show up thinking I’ll welcome you with open arms?” Cora exclaims incredulously, voice growing shriller with each word. “Yeah, of _course_ , that’s what you would expect, because the world revolves around you and nothing is ever your responsibility!”

Derek sighs, head throbbing. He hadn’t expected a warm reception, but this is definitely more anger than he was prepared for. He tries again to regain some level-headedness into the conversation. “Cora, I’m sorry I showed up unannounced. I know I should’ve called—“

“Called? _Called?_ ” His baby sister shrieks. “You should’ve stayed in whatever hole you’ve been hiding out in with our psychotic uncle for the past 36 months!”

Derek frowns at that, trying not to let the words sting and failing miserably. “I haven’t been ‘hiding out’, and Peter isn’t crazy.”

Cora’s slight, but powerful frame whirls on him in wonder. Her dark eyebrows lift expressively, and Derek hears an echo of a jibe about wolf transformations not being the only thing that is genetic in this family. A jab at his chest forces the thought away, leaving him cold, but he ducks his head and concedes, “Okay, he is crazy. But you know why!” he insists, adding softly, “And you know why I couldn’t follow you here.”

At that, the teenager seems to deflate. Her long, dark hair fans around her face like a protective curtain as her head drops. Derek hears a faint sigh of what he can’t guess. But he takes it as a surrender and steps tenderly closer. A hand falls on Cora’s shoulder, and without seeming to even think, she presses firmly into the touch, a primal whine of sadness and submission emitting from her chest. Derek knows it must be hard to be so near her alpha after so long and resist the urge to submit. He pulls his baby sister into his chest and rests his cheek on her head.

After a moment of silence, the kind of comfortable silence that can only be achieved after years of relying solely on each other, Cora takes a solidifying breath and pulls away. Derek allows the retreat, stepping away and regaining his own self-control.

“I missed you too.”

“So, why are you back?” She asks, voice still not totally back to its usual haughty nonchalance. “And what’s with the eyes?”

Derek sighs again, but this time for another reason. He had really hoped to delay this conversation; ever since he had gotten a glimpse into his Soulmates mind and discovered the obvious predicament present, he has been very conflicted on his future. It was one thing to realize you were someone’s other half, but it was an entirely other thing to learn that they seemingly wanted nothing to do with that particular half. He just hasn’t found a way to spin this into a happy ending yet.

Which is not exactly his specialty on a normal day.

But that all could wait. This is the first time he’s seen his sister since she was just a scrawny little rebel in ripped skinny jeans. Now she is a petite, fully-grown rebel in khaki cargo pants and a lace-up top… So maybe things haven’t changed much in that aspect. There is still plenty of catching up to do that doesn’t involve his weird new eye color and the voice inside his head.

“New contacts,” he answers briskly, “How are you? How’s emancipation been treating you?”

“Ha, ha,” she chides blandly, before responding, “Really good, actually. I’m salutatorian at Beacon High. I’ve already been accepted to three of my top five college choices… Things are kind of okay.”

Derek feels his lips tug into a small smile as he watches the pride and contentment touches his sister’s face. He remembers when things like this had seemed like a hopeless, cruel dream. And look at her now, achieving them, just how their mother would’ve wanted her to… Just how Laura would've…

“I’m glad,” he coughs out, clearing his throat of any residual grief lodged there.

“What about you?” Cora redirects thoughtfully, “How is Uncle Peter?”

“The same as usual,” Derek murmurs quietly, “In and out. Sometimes it’s like the old days, and sometimes he’s a stranger… At least the outbursts seem to have run their course.”

A moment of stifling silence falls over the two again, and just as Derek is about to change the subject the door behind Cora opens with a satisfying click of the lock. Derek’s body tenses, arm jerking forward to bring his sister closer, but she surprises him by turning calmly and moving towards the door.

“I’m home!”

Derek watches in silence as a tall, red-headed girl steps routinely through the doorway of his sister’s apartment, lugging a designer purse and shopping bag over her forearm. Cora rushes to stand before the girl and whispers a frantic message of the situation. Of course, Derek hears the hushed exchange perfectly, but feigns ignorance in the spirit of good manners.

The girl turns to him with a deep breath, eyes wide and tolerant, but her scent suggests thinly-veiled suspicion and disapproval. She gives Derek a complacent, yet somehow demeaning smile and promptly turns back to Cora.

Their murmurs continue with equal fervor while Derek stands idle, wishing for once that wolf hearing had an on/off option.

“ _I thought you said he was a selfish jerk that abandoned you for his own cowardly reasons—“_

 _“I don’t think I said_ cowardly _—“_

_“You did.”_

_“Okay, well, he’s my brother, so give him a chance.”_

_“Gladly. Right after he explains how he could leave his own sister to deal with massive family loss by herself—“_

_“Lydia!_ Please _—“_

_“Fine.”_

The two turn in unison back to Derek, and he feels his ears redden with the abundance of information this strange girl has about his family. Who would Cora tell things like this to? Who would she trust with all this?

Oh.

“Derek,” Cora announces nervously, “This is Lydia. My girlfriend.”

Derek clears his throat self-consciously. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Lydia smiles mechanically back at him, eyes severe, as she reaches out a hand. “Yes. Nice to put a face…”

They make eye contact as their hands touch, and suddenly Lydia’s breath catches. A new scent wafts pungently off her as it mixes with her old skepticism, becoming a new combination of shock, apprehension, and a second later, disappointment. Derek frowns, confused by the odd shift. Cora, who also registers the new scent, touches Lydia’s bare shoulder in question and automatic comfort. She glances once at his sister’s face before immediately turning back to Derek.

“So what brings you to town?” She asks, voice suddenly thick with pretense, and it is clear to Derek that she is hiding something. This puts him on edge.

“Need a reason to come see my sister?”

“Didn’t need one to ignore her for three years,” she retorts fluidly.

Derek bristles and Cora reaches out to him, a hand on either of them now. He can tell that she is just as confused as he is, but is hoping for a resolution. He attempts to backtrack to appease her. The girl is right, after all.

“Of course,” He sighs, the words jarred, but light. “Something has happened recently, and I thought this was the best place to go.”

“Hmm,” is her only acknowledgment before redirecting the topic, “So, have you been in town long? Met up with anyone?”

“No… I came straight here.”

Her eyes rove over his face as if assessing whether or not he’s lying, and he would bet that’s exactly what she’s doing. After a moment, she seems satisfied with the statements authenticity and nods obligingly.

“Hey, how about we all sit down? I’ll make us some coffee, and we can talk and get to know each other, alright?” Cora announces suddenly, pulling the two toward a small futon pushed against a wall.

As they allow themselves to be maneuvered, however, Lydia’s phone rings and her hand darts into her purse as if it has caught on fire. She pulls it out, and after glancing at the screen, turns back toward the door and answers.

“Scott,” her voice is urgent, anxious.

Derek tries not to hear the voice on the other end, but his reaction to Lydia’s odd behavior has his senses heightened on instinct, and the boy’s voice blares out at him like a blow horn. On the other hand, Cora visibly relaxes at the name and retreats calmly to the little kitchenette off the right side of the living room. Derek tries to follow her movements with his eyes in the hopes of distracting him from the unfurling conversation to his left, but to no avail.

“ _Dad just came to pick him up. Kira, Jackson and I are leaving now. Have you got Cora?”_

“Yes, I’m here with her, but…” Her voice is tense, her scent worried, “Scott, something came up here.”

“ _What do you mean? You can’t leave?”_

“Not this, no. It’s… It’s complicated,” She murmurs into the receiver. “But I need to be here.”

A low sigh follows, and when the boy finally continues, he sounds far older than Derek had originally pegged him. “ _Alright. Let me know if anything changes.”_

Then the call is dropped and the two strangers are left staring awkwardly at each other. Lydia sits stiffly onto the futon next to Derek, chin held firmly up and staring straight ahead.

“Let’s not pretend you didn’t hear that,” she proclaims righteously. “And I’ll thank you not to pry into my business.”

Derek lifts his hands up automatically to portray his utter complacence with that compromise. Only seconds later, Cora returns with three mugs balanced between her hands. Derek jumps up to take two from her, and hands one back to Lydia. They all sit—Cora in the old rocking chair to the right of the futon. Silence strikes again.

^-^-^-^-^        

Stiles has been in bed since he got home, preferring to hide away in the dark to nurse his migraine rather than sitting around letting his whole family pity him with their eyes. The Sheriff called the specialist on the way home from picking Stiles up from the nurse’s office, and she had only told them that this was normal and that there is nothing to be done until his condition worsens. So basically, Stiles’ Soulmate is going to get him killed.

Yay for predestined love.

For the first hour or so, Stiles had tried playing Call of Duty, thinking that stabbing zombies in the face might ease some of his frustration, but the screen and noise had only made his migraine more concentrated, and eventually, he’d had to retire to the bed. Every now and then, he will sip from a bottle of orange juice, but he firmly keeps his thoughts in check. He refuses to think about the fact that his Soulmate is a fu-reaking werewolf, or that he is apparently travelling, or that he seems completely immune to the physical torture the Claiming has wreaked on Stiles.

At about five, there was an influx of melancholy, surprise, and regret that seemed to fill and overflow the part of Stiles’ mind that he had by now coined the Soulmate corner. It made him wonder what was so crazy in that guy’s life that it just had to overshare into Stiles’ brain.

Okay, so maybe he is getting a little bitter. That’s to be expected, right?

“Stiles?”

His head lifts instinctively off the pillow at his name, and he sees Melissa standing hesitantly in the doorway. For a second, his mind’s eye is filled with the image of a different woman standing in that same spot, skin much more fair with light, chestnut hair and an upturned nose.

He smiles sadly up at her, motions for her to enter.

She walks slowly to the bed and perches on the edge, pulling her legs up underneath her in a comfortable way. When she speaks her voice is soft, but firm.

“You need to come out now, honey. You need to let us help you.”

“I don’t need help,” he insists in a choked whisper.

Melissa sighs, face hardening into that authoritative expression that always foreshadowed a reprimand. “Maybe you don’t. This isn’t my expertise. But you are going to get helped, because it’s what _we_ need. And it’s what he needs.”

She emphasizes the last part with a gentle tap at Stiles’ temple, and he knows she’s talking about his Soulmate. He also knows she’s right, and even though he doesn’t feel ready, he pulls himself into a sitting position with a sigh.

“There you go,” Melissa says with a satisfied tone. “Self-pity doesn’t suit you, anyhow.”

The two laugh quietly as they make their way downstairs. Everyone is there when they turn the corner, Scott holding a steaming cup of hot cocoa out to him as he edges closer. Melissa moves to sit between her son and his girlfriend, Kira, and the Sheriff on the sofa, passing Boyd and Jackson standing before the fireplace. Stiles takes the mug gratefully and stares around at his friends and family.

The Sheriff speaks, "We don't want to push you, Stiles. But we need to know what's going on in that head of yours. You might not think so, but we can help."

“Lydia couldn’t make it,” Scott comments quickly. “Something about Cora and some old family drama coming up at the last minute.”

“I hope everything’s okay,” Stiles murmurs inquiringly, but his brother only shakes his head in mutual ignorance.

“The point is,” Boyd’s voice resounds across the room, deep and subtle with emotion. “We’re here for you.”

“And we’re not going anywhere!” Scott adds cheerily.

^-^-^-^-^

The intervention is well over by the time Lydia arrives. Stiles grins cheekily up at her as she enters the room, his mood effectively lightened.

“Get enough alone time with your fanged lover, eh, Lyds?”

“Ha, ha,” She sneers, but he catches her pleased little smile anyway.

He guesses he has been kind of down in the pits since this whole thing started. It makes since that his friends would be worried for him.

“Where is Cora, anyway?” Kira questions from where she sits perched in Scott’s lap.

The others in the room, Jackson and Boyd, turn to Lydia in curiosity now, but she regards them all dismissively as she takes a seat on the vacated couch. She plays nonchalantly with her hair before responding with, “She’s otherwise engaged tonight. Wanted to make it. Sends her regrets.”

The others take that without question, but Stiles frowns, knowing how Lydia likes to flaunt her relationship. Plus, he notices that she refuses to make eye contact with him, which is a red flag in itself. He hauls himself up and ambles decisively over to where she lounges. However, before he can get to her, Scott is calling his name and gesturing him over for a round of CoD.

“You’re subbing in for Jackson, because he’s too sensitive,” he chides teasingly.

“It’s not sensitive if you’re intentionally cheating, McCall,” The boy in question calls from where he’s sequestered himself to the kitchen.

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles interrupts, feeling himself falling back into the ways of his pack. “Well, let me just show you newbs how it’s done.”

^-^-^-^-^

It’s been a week since Derek arrived in Beacon Hills, and he still has yet to tell Cora how or why he got here. He wants to, of course. There’s nothing he wants more than to express to someone what has been going on inside his head. But there just hasn’t been a good time for it. Once he goes into why he’s here, he’ll have to explain how long this has been going on, and what he thinks it means… And that’s the kind of conversation you want to have at exactly the right time.

First, Cora’s apparently long-term girlfriend shows up and rocks their already shaky relationship with suspicion and disapproval. Then, when Lydia eventually leaves to go check on her friend, Cora tells Derek all about her semester paper for Genetic Science class—the topic of which is the Anima Vinculum, otherwise known as the Soulmate gene. The next morning he had woken up to an empty house only to realize it was a school day, and every day since there has been something obstructing their having this conversation.

And to be quite frank, Derek is about to explode.

The impulses have gotten steadily stronger—to the point of physical pain—the shared emotions have become so vivid, he has almost mistaken them for his own at times; and every night, he dreams of the heat, the frantic need, that had pulled him from his home. Those words echo in his head all the time: “ _Meant to be,_ " and " _Escape, escape, escape…”_

Derek feels haunted by the Claiming. His connection with his Soulmate is literally stalking him, day and night. The urge in his gut that had first prompted his relocation has begun to stir once again, already restless. He doesn’t know how much longer he can go on like this. He needs help. He can’t keep going like this alone. That’s why he has decided to tell Cora everything tonight when she gets home from school.

Just making the decision immediately puts him in a better mood. He’s not used to sharing intimate information, and he is by no means acquainted with elaborate releases of emotion, but this is one time he’s truly relieved to talk about something. He is far more excited to have this burden off his back than he is afraid of his sister’s reaction—though that is a strong factor in his delay of speaking to her about it.

Still, once the decision is made, Derek instantly feels better. He decides to go into town for the first time since he arrived. Something about the fall weather has him in the mood for freshly brewed coffee that he doesn’t have to make in a dingy, old pot his sister stole from a first-rate motel God knows how long ago.

So at around noon, Derek arrives at the only coffee shop off downtown, wearing a baseball cap and sporting a pretty neglected beard. As he enters, the warm scent of fresh coffee and tired people fills his nostrils and sets his heartbeat ablaze. His blood is suddenly pumping at full speed, seeming to boil from beneath his skin, finding its way straight into the pit in his belly. His eyesight flickers red, and he knows his eyes have shifted. However, he can’t shift them back because every inch of his focus is centered on one particular strand of scent.

Suddenly, all Derek knows in the world is that this room is too warm, and too crowded full of people, and that one of those people has the sweetest, most sensuous scent he has ever smelled. One of those people is _his_ , and—

Wait.

Derek’s eyes squeeze shut, head shaking back and forth in confusion. What is happening to him? What or who is this smell that is overpowering all of his other senses? What could do that to him? But he knows the answer before he’s fully formed the question.

His Soulmate could do that to him. He’s here.

Derek opens his eyes, and before he can even breathe, is surveilling the room. He stands directly in the doorway, a perfect vantage point to see the entire café. Directly before him is the counter and line of people—most of whom reek of frustration, exhaustion, or a mixture of the two. To the left is a row of small tables and booth, almost all of which are filled. The people chat or read or smoke, and none of them seem the slightest bit aware that Derek is having a nervous breakdown.

His eyes dart from face to face, searching for him, knowing that he’ll know when he sees him. Knowing that everything will be okay when he sees him—from somewhere deep down, he _knows_.

But no face jumps out at him. Each is as ordinary and meaningless as the next.

Derek frowns at himself, ashamed in his lack of control. He just went out for _coffee_ , for gods sake. Now he’s standing here like an idiot, getting drunk off some stranger’s scent. He shakes his head, annoyed, and steps into the line. Besides, he reasons with himself, the longer he takes in the scent, the less potent it becomes. That could’ve just been some fluke, just some really pleasant-smelling stranger with no connection to Derek at all.

As Derek is leaving the café with his coffee, he begins planning out how he will begin to bring up everything that had been going with Cora. He hopes that she doesn’t bring Lydia home with her; this would be hard enough with just the two of them. The Hales aren’t exactly known for their stellar conversational skills. But add in a self-righteous insensitive person like her…

Derek continues fretting over Cora and her choice in a mate as he passes the last outside table in front of the café, soaking in a particularly concentrated whiff of the mouthwatering scent, and stumbles thoughtlessly over a backpack lying on the sidewalk before him.

“Oh—sorry!”

The apology is drowned out by Derek’s overwhelming anxiety at the idea of Cora and what they would have to discuss tonight. He barely even registers the words, much less acknowledge them or their origin, before righting himself and continuing down the sidewalk towards Cora’s apartment.

^-^-^-^-^

“I told you that was going to happen, Stiles,” Kira chides without heat, pulling his bag out of the middle of the sidewalk where he had dropped it.

He barely glances up as she speaks though, fully consumed by the textbook he’s been flicking through since they sat down, though it had gotten slightly harder to focus the last few minutes as the ache in his gut flares up again. He found it in the library during their shared free period and convinced Kira to play hooky with him, so that he could study the huge thing in earnest with a large coffee. He knows the only reason she had said yes was to get away from her semester report in Genetic Sci II. She was this year’s unlucky student to draw Pack Dynamics.

“It’s just _so_ boring,” she continues her rant from before the guy with baseball cap stumbled by. “I mean, I know I should care about this stuff, because of Scott and Boyd and everybody, but—most of it is either infinitely sexist or homophobic, or some other disgustingly socially unacceptable thing…”

“And the rest is pretty much a page out of ‘the birds and the bees’ talk, yeah. I know,” Stiles finishes for her without looking up. “I had Pack Dynamics for Genetics Science last year. Brutal.”

Kira groans pathetically. “What did you do?”

“Wrote a lot of Alpha/Omega smut,” he answers immediately, ears turning pink, “No respectable teacher wants to read too far into that.”

“Oh! Stiles!” She exclaims, reaching across the table to flick his arm. “Gross!”

“ _You and me, baby, ain’t nothing but mammals—“_

“Ugh, Stiles!” Kira squeals, as he finally stares up at her and sings with mirth.

He laughs heartily, feeling oddly warm and comforted by the knowledge that if everything else in his life goes completely haywire, at least he can always make Kira squirm. _“So let’s do it like they do on the Discovery channel—“_

He continues to tease her until she falls into a fit of giggles and he’s finally satisfied. Eventually, Kira checks her phone and sighs, “Free period is ending. We should get back.”

The two climb back into Roscoe and head back toward the school.

“So, what were you studying so in depth, anyway?”

Stiles cringes, having hoped she wouldn’t ask that. It’s uncomfortable enough as it is, having his little universe-matchmaking situation be the center of the packs attention these past few weeks. To have it become a school topic on top of that… He doesn’t think he will handle it as well as he had last time. Still, Kira’s too smart to lie to. She would figure it out anyway, and then be insulted that he’d thought he could keep it from her.

“Soulmate lore,” He rushes to continue when he hears a sigh from the passenger seat. “It’s not what you think—“

“Stiles, you know not to take that stuff into stalk,” she reminds him in exasperation, making it very clear that she is growing weary of having to have this conversation. “It’s just old rumors and stories from frightened people who didn’t understand the culture—“

“I know, I know, it’s just that—Kira,” Stiles mutters, voice going soft. “How many people do you know of that have been ordered bedrest after being Claimed?”

“You know I don’t know anyone else that’s ever been Claimed,” She sighs, feeling an old sadness for her friend.

“Yeah.”

The statement punctures something in Stiles that he didn’t know was starting to swell. Hope, maybe. He feels exactly how he did that first moment of understanding in the doctor’s office, like something was stolen from him. In the most underhanded way, because he couldn’t fight it, and he couldn’t be sad about it. It was supposed to be this gift, and all it really felt like was a sentence.

“Anyway,” he shrugs, eyes on the road, definitely not crying, because that would be so dumb. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”


	3. Johnny Cash Said Love Would Burn, I Never Thought It'd Hurt This Bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so just wanna note: if anyone is interested in a list of the songs that I have been listening to while writing this fic, just let me know (fyi, the main title/chapter titles are good indicators).
> 
> also, someone asked about fic length, and all i will say is that starting from the end of this chapter, we are now into the main plot so it should go a little more quickly from now on. but no guarantees. and i still have no exact answer for number of chapters but i will update as soon as i do.
> 
> also, we will soon have officially entered slow burn territory, and it is a DESERT OF HEATED UST. so. get ready.
> 
> (ch title is a line from the song, drown, by the front porch step)

“ _What? You found his Soulmate?”_ Scott exclaims, mind racing to catch up.

Lydia quickly shushes him with a pinch on the upper arm, and hisses, “Scott! What did I say about keeping _quiet_? Practically everyone we know has super hearing!”

Scott shakes his head, face still contorted in confusion.

“Back up,” he whispers, “How did this happen?”

“When I went to get Cora the other night for the intervention, her brother was there—“

“Cora has a brother?”

“Yes, shush,” she says impatiently, continuing, “For as long as she can remember, it was always Cora, her older brother and their older sister being taken care of by their uncle—something happened to the rest of the family when they were kids, she was too young. Anyway, her uncle was Claimed and met his Soulmate, but she was murdered by Derek’s girlfriend at the time—“

“Wait, who’s Derek?”

Lydia groans in frustration, balling her fists and pulling him closer to her. Her voice is impossibly lower than before as she responds, “Derek is Cora’s brother, and his girlfriend was a Hunter, but she had gone AWOL, and murdered their uncle’s mate. After that, he went insane, completely lost his mind… Cora wouldn’t say much, but… there was an accident. Their sister, Laura, passed away.”

Scott stands in silence before Lydia, his crooked jaw hanging open. This is the first he’s hearing any of this. As far as he knew, Cora never even had a family. He tries to pay close attention as Lydia continues.

“After that, Cora couldn’t take it. She ran off on her own, and was granted emancipation due to their uncle’s mental state. That’s when she came here,” she says clinically, but as she resumes, her voice turns hard and bitter. “But Derek wouldn’t go with her. He refused to leave their uncle. He left her to fend for herself, grieve all alone…”

Scott frowns, feeling a new sympathy for the girl he had apparently never truly known. His hand instinctively moves to pat comfortingly on Lydia’s arm. Everyone can see how much the two love each other; even if Lydia would never admit it, he knows how much that must eat her up. Still…

“That’s horrible, Lyds... but what does this have to do with Stiles?”

Lydia holds up a finger now, gesturing to let her finish. “The other night when I met Derek… When I showed up, it startled him. He wasn’t expecting me, and I guess his instinct was to protect Cora from danger, so I didn’t notice at first, because he’s the alpha and his eyes glowed red… but after he calmed down… Scott, they were violet. Just like Stiles’. _His eyes glowed purple_.”

Scott’s breath is caught in his throat, heart hammering away in his ears as he tries desperately to work this out in his head. Derek, Cora’s long-lost brother… Stiles’ violet-tinted eyes… They were… _Soulmates?_

“So,” he finally gasps, “What you’re telling me is that my best friend’s Soulmate is some damaged alpha who abandoned his only sane family member out of pure cowardice?”

As the fateful words come tumbling out of his mouth, they are suddenly too real, too terrifying. Scott gulps convulsively, fear and sorrow eating at his gut already.

“It actually makes a bit of sense,” Lydia murmurs thoughtfully, not noticing the way her companion jerks, horror-struck, at the statement. “It makes for an ironic twist to the Soulmate ideology that the werewolf-resenting human is Claimed by the distorted, mindless alpha, and visa versa—“

“Write a book about then, why don’t you?”

Lydia glances back at Scott at that, a curious, unbiased look of surprise on her face. Her gaze flits across his face and stance, and once she takes in his attitude, she sighs in exasperation. “Oh, relax, Scott. I’m just saying.”

“Yeah, well, just don’t.”

The two old friends stare each other on, both with swirling thoughts and questions behind their eyes, but neither ready to give in first. Though they had never much seen eye-to-eye, they always had this in common. Eventually, though, for the sake of his brother and best friend, Scott breaks the silence.

“So, what do we do?”

At that, Lydia cracks a devilish grin.

Oh yeah, Scott thinks. She has a plan.

^-^-^-^-^

Derek is staring at his baby sister in shock. What was that she had just said? Had he misunderstood her somehow? How had she known all along, without a single word from him?

“Are you sure you’re my little sister?” He asks incredulously, face blank.

Cora’s brows scrunch inward in confusion, and she tilts her head as she says, “What? Yes, of course, I’m your sister.”

“No, it’s just that,” Derek sighs, feeling a pit grow in his chest that has nothing to do with the ongoing burn of Soulmate need at the base of his gut. “You’re so grown up. I can’t believe how much you’ve changed.”

Cora rolls her eyes in exasperation, but a small grin lightens her face at the compliment. “Oh come on, Derek. Don’t be an old man. It was so obvious. You’re eyes are _purple_ , for gods sake!”

Derek chooses to ignore that in favor of reaching across the table and taking his sisters hand. He smiles quietly at her, and she grins knowingly back.

“I hope our thing didn’t keep you from Lydia…?” Derek inquires curiously.

Cora shakes her head, assures, “Oh, no. She couldn’t hang out tonight. Said she had something she needed to do.”

“She sure is a doozy, that girl,” Derek murmurs thoughtfully, taking a glance up at Cora to see her reaction.

He’s surprised to see her soft smile at the comment. Her gaze is still on their clasped hands, but her whole face softens with the smile, and she unwittingly squeezes his fingers as she nods her acquiesce.

“Do you love her?”

She startles at that, back tensing away and face drawing back. “What?”

Derek sighs as she pulls her hand out of his grip. He should’ve known it was too soon for her. Of course, it was. What kind of kid can come back from losing most of their family in a horrific tragedy, and later losing one of their three remaining relatives by way of the other two relatives? He is honestly amazed that she’s done as well as she has. She’s a strong girl.

“I’m sorry. It’s none of my business,” he quickly withdraws, straightening up as well.

She shakes her head, frowning, but changes the topic. “So, have you met her?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your Soulmate,” she states, as if it’s obvious. “Have you met her yet?”

Derek shrugs, thoughts suddenly back on himself and becoming increasingly darker. That is a thought he hadn’t even had yet. Was his Soulmate a ‘ _her’_? He hadn’t even considered it. He’d just been referring to them as a ‘ _he’_ all this time… Was it a coincidence, or destined? Already, though, he knows what’s felt right. Derek’s Soulmate is a man.

“No, that’s actually part of why I’m here,” he answers thoughtfully, prudently skimming over the gender topic. “Our connection, the Claiming, it made me come here.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. I just get these urges sometimes, from deep in my stomach. And I just _know_ that I need to go somewhere, or eat something, or… well, that’s how it felt at first.”

“I don’t get it, Derek,” Cora states in befuddlement.

“About a week or two ago, I was just suddenly hit with this sheer terror and panic and—and then all I could hear was my Soulmate screaming for help, for an escape… The next thing I know, I’m wolfed out and running bare-footed through the woods. To here.”

Derek’s eyes focus back on his sister’s face, and his eyebrows raise at her odd expression. He wants to ask her if he’s made her uncomfortable, but before he gets the chance, she exclaims, “Will you tell me about that? The telepathy?”

“What do you want to know?” He asks, glad that she doesn’t seem to be shutting him out.

“What does it feel like, having someone in your head?”

Derek laughs sardonically. “Not as fun as you might think. It feels really odd, like your mind can tell that this thought, or emotion, or image, doesn’t belong in there. It’s like this immediate awareness… Like there’s a place for all of your thoughts, but no room for this sudden intruder. Does that make sense?”

Cora blinks oddly, looking like she’s trying to do a particularly puzzling math problem in her head, but nods and grins.

“What kind of stuff do you hear?” she asks innocently.

Derek takes a breath, admittedly feeling a little icky. It is one thing to share thoughts with your Soulmate, it’s another to divulge them to outsiders. And when did his only remaining sister become an outsider? Nevertheless, he answers her question as honestly as he feels comfortable with, “Most recently? Just this image of a woman standing in a doorway. The room is dark, and it’s hard to make out her features, but she’s tall and thin, and has long, dark hair. And he’s sad when he thinks about her. I don’t know why, and I don’t know who she is…

“One of my first ones, though, was back in Nevada with Peter. I was walking past this old, dirt lot and I suddenly just had this thought that I could run forever and still feel too tied down… and I knew it wasn’t me. I mean, at once I knew it was my Soulmate,” Derek inhales for strength, figuring he might as well go big or go home. “And later, I got something else. Not really a thought; no words or ideas. Just… this deep-seated feeling of loathing and regret and bitterness…and he meant it for me.

“I—I think he sent it to me, to feel it.”

“Oh, Derek…”

He groans with embarrassment, quickly laughing it off. “No, no. It’s fine. I, um, I understood it. People don’t like to be told what they can and can’t have. I know that I’m different from other people… I understand.”

Derek gasps suddenly as he feels his sister’s thin arms wrapped tightly around him and pressing him close. He sighs into her shoulder, hoping that she didn’t hear his heart stutter over the words as obviously as he had. 

^-^-^-^-^-^

It’s been raining all day, without even a moment’s reprieve, and Stiles is fed up.  He had already been ordered to ride the bus today. At this rate, there’s no way he’s going to be able to drive Roscoe to school for the rest of the week. He stares sullenly out of the south-facing window of his classroom, silently hating the weather.

“Okay, that’s enough for today. Don’t forget to finish your novels tonight, guys,” Ms. Morell announces seconds before the bell rings, and the class calm dissolves as kids race to exit the school.

Stiles moves across the room to wait beside Lydia’s desk as she leisurely packs her things away. They leave the room together and walk companionably to the end of the hall, where Scott, Kira, Jackson, and Cora are waiting for them. Lydia immediately steps up to Cora’s side and pulls her close. Stiles turns to pat Scott on the shoulder as the group heads for the double doors leading out of the school.

“So, did you and Kira find a ride?” He asks, his voice turning sarcastic as he adds, “Or are you two taking the bus with me?”

Scott glances up at Lydia strangely, and Stiles frowns. Lydia wouldn’t be able to give them a ride; she lost driving privileges after her most recent wolf rescue mission, which her close-minded parents are not huge fans of.

However, Lydia is staring intensely at Cora, who stares back with just as much urgency. Now that Stiles is noticing, all the wolves in their group are staring at the girls. He glances at Kira, on Scott’s other side, but she is watching Scott’s face—total faith there in her eyes. Stiles’ eyebrows crinkle tightly over his eyes, confusion making the everlasting knot at the back of his head a sharper pain.

“What?”

“We’ll talk later,” Cora answers some unknown question that Stiles hadn’t heard, before wheeling on her heel and striding purposefully away into the rain. Lydia watches her go.

“Ahem, actually, Stiles. We got a ride with Malia,” Scott mutters apologetically. “She just passed her driving test…”

A harsh thump reverberates through Stiles’ chest at the name, and he can tell the wolves hear it—even over the rain—because even Jackson winces uncomfortably. He gulps drily, trying not to think about his ex-girlfriend and the last time he saw her. However, he feels his mood sink lower and lower with each breath.

“Oh,” He exclaims, hoping for nonchalance. “Nah, that’s great. I’m glad for her… Um, tell her I said congrats.”

They smile in sympathy and begin inching away into the rain. But the farther away they get, the more ache he feels in his chest—wishing he could follow after. At the last second, when they’re still only about twelve feet away, he shouts, “Scott! It really is okay! Tell her she owes me for all those lessons on stick shift!”

The couple turns in surprise, eyes wide. A grin, more pleased than he’s seen in a long time, spreads over his brother’s face, and Stiles knows he’s said the right thing. This is right. This is how it needs to be now, he chants in his head. And unbelievably, he nearly convinces himself that he can be okay with that.

They wave happily back at him before darting quickly to waiting car.

As they pull away, and Jackson moves to lean against a pillar of the pavilion—presumably waiting on his parents, the two aren’t exactly the sharing duo—a sleek, black convertible pulls up directly in front of the sidewalk, passenger seat facing in. Stiles attempts to identify the passenger, but the windows are tinted so dark that he can’t see through in this weather.

Fortunately for him, the window rolls down almost instantly, and Cora’s pale, blank face appears. She makes no move to acknowledge Lydia, who is still standing where she left her, and instead turns to Stiles.

“Hey, do you want a ride?” She calls out of the window, rain pelting her face. “We can double seat it.”

Stiles blinks in surprise, having never been all that close with the girl, and grins in what he hopes is polite demeanor. “Whose car is that?”

“My brother, Derek’s,” she answers, voice turning syrupy-sweet, and for a moment, Stiles wonders who this show is for. “He’s in town while he works somethings out.”

Again, Stiles is stumped. He had absolutely no idea that Cora even had a brother, much less that is in town. But now that he thinks about it, he supposes it makes sense—what with all the talk about old drama surfacing recently. He ducks his head slightly, making out a black leather jacket and a big, hairy hand on the gear shift, before the knot in the back of his head flares again with such intensity that he actually sees spots for a few seconds.

Suddenly Lydia’s steadying hand is on his shoulder, and she calls out decidedly, “Stiles doesn’t need a ride in a scrunched up car right now. Jackson and I will take him.”

Her tone surprises Stiles, because, though it’s the way she talks to most everyone, he has never heard her use it when speaking to Cora. If he didn’t know before, it’s clear now that there is some kind of tension going on between the couple.

As the convertible begins to pull away, Cora stretches her head out and exclaims, “If you ever need a ride, Stiles, Derek is always around!”

Turns out, Jackson had just been waiting for the rain to lessen, unwilling to step out into the harsh weather. When Stiles realizes this is the case, he takes the other boy’s keys and pulls the Wrangler around to the pavilion, switching into the back and letting Jackson and Lydia take the front seats. He needs to lie down anyway.

Once they are on Lydia’s street, Jackson has the thought to inquire, “Hey, Lyds, what was all that with Cora? Trouble in paradise?”

Stiles lifts his head from the leather seat in time to see Lydia’s annoyed sneer, but notices that she uncharacteristically chooses not to respond. After she gets out, Jackson idles in front of her house, glancing into the backseat.

“You can get up front now, Stilinski.”

Stiles purrs sarcastically, pulling himself awkwardly into the passenger seat over the center console. He hears Jackson scoff in mild annoyance.

“I heard, you know, back there,” He mutters stiffly, his usually sardonic voice oddly severe in its sincerity.

“Heard what?”

“Don’t act dumb, Stilinski,” he snaps impatiently, “I heard your heart skip a beat, back at the school.”

Stiles goes still, suddenly completely closed off. He definitely hadn’t been expecting that, and he definitely isn’t about to have this conversation. He stares straight ahead, refusing to respond.

“You waited ‘til they were far enough away that Scott wouldn’t be able to hear it. You _wanted_ to trick them.”

“I didn’t _trick anyone_ ,” Stiles snaps back, instantly indignant.

“Shut up, Stiles, I don’t care,” Jackson responds easily, as if expecting—nay—hoping for this exclamation, as if this somehow confirmed something for him. “Look, it’s shitty to have to give someone up for their own good. It’s a different kind of pain to be given up on… You know that they only left you, because they wanted what was best for you. And you know they’re too good a person to ever come back. But it wasn’t your choice, and the feelings didn’t end when the relationship did, and it feels like it will never stop being shitty.”

Stiles turns to see Jackson staring straight ahead, face contorted, looking like he is completely regretting starting this conversation. However, he knows Jackson, and that means he knows that trying to comfort or relax him would have the opposite effect. So, he just sits quietly.

Jackson sighs shakily, continues. “And then, sooner than you will like, she’ll move on. And that will make you feel like you have knives instead of blood, pumping from your limbs to your heart. But, Stiles. She is too good for you. And you have to let her be happy. And then, later, you’ll be happy that she is.”

Stiles is truly stunned by Jackson’s words, though he would _never_ admit it. The pain in his voice when he spoke about Lydia—it is immediately obvious to Stiles, who knows a thing or two about being in love with the strawberry-blonde, who he is referencing—is astounding. Of course, Stiles knows that the two have always had a bond, and that once he got back from his little hiatus after the whole kanima transformation, they had stayed on good terms, but… If he is being honest, he never really thought Jackson had ever actually loved Lydia. However, it is undeniable now, in this insanely uncomfortable moment, because it is like he has found a way to voice every feeling Stiles has had since Malia ended things.

Except, of course, the added stress of an unknown Soulmate.

They are idling in front of his house now, but Stiles can’t just leave right? After all that, from a guy that basically loathed him for years. He clears his throat, clutches his backpack anxiously, but cowardly, can’t meet the other teenager’s gaze. Finally, he decides that what Jackson would appreciate most right now is a chance to reclaim his cool composure.

“I’m going to hold you to that, pal,” he jokes weakly, voice cracking.

The other boy pushes him casually and growls, “Don’t call me ‘pal’, nerd.”

They glance at each other for a second, and something like understanding passes between them, and holy god, was this day going to get any odder? Stiles nods, and jumps out of the car, runs into the house out of the now flood-like rain.

^-^-^-^-^

“I’m all for exorbitant amounts of coffee at odd hours of the day and night,” Stiles exclaims, voice contorted in perplexity, as he makes his way into the café. “But, guys, at three on a Saturday?”

Scott and Lydia shoot each other a look that means to Stiles that there is more than a caffeine boost in his future. He feels his heart speed up in apprehension, feeling like one more surprise might be the actual end of him. Scott glances down in some odd mix of shame and remorse at the acceleration that he falls audience to. However, honestly, Stiles can’t feel sympathy for him on that account. Werewolves are continually ruining his life, and he’s kind of getting sick of them all.

The trio moves to a small table near the back, though the place is virtually empty, Stiles notes ironically. He takes a seat across from the other two, eyeing them in scrutiny. What could the universe have up its sleeve now? They stare back with equal intensity, Scott wide-eyed and anxious, Lydia studious and determined.

“What’s going on, guys?” He blurts suddenly, fear pushing him from any hope of calm. “I mean, I already got Claimed, lost my girlfriend, and have the pity of even my worst enemies. I’m usually a supporter of the dramatic arts, but I think, at this point, I would really just rather you be straight with me.”

Scott glances at Lydia, as if begging for a life raft. She nods back, waving him off. Then she turns to Stiles and announces, “We have some things we need to talk to you about. I promised I would do it, because—big surprise—Scott lost his nerve at the last minute. But first, let’s get some coffee, and we’ll sit down and figure this out.”

“’Figure this out’?” Stiles repeats in slight terror. “What is _happening_?”

“Stiles!” Lydia exclaims, tone authoritative. She points to the counter. “Coffee first.”

The second Stiles is up and walking back towards the cashier, he hears the two conspirators whispering urgently at each other again. He isn’t able to catch much before he’s out of earshot, but it’s meaningless to him:

“— _We_ had _to do it this way. She won’t promise not to say anything—“_

_“And why are you all of a sudden so grouchy? This was your idea.”_

_“She’s furious—“_

_“Well, it had to be done, Lydia, he’s my_ brother—“

Stiles groans internally, feeling like the anticipation is going to eat him alive; good or bad, he needs to know. He quickly orders three lattes, not bothering to pay attention to detail. He moves hastily back to his table and sits down again, leaning his arms on the surface and perching on the edge of his chair.

“Okay,” he prompts breathlessly. “Spit it out.”

“Well,” Lydia begins, voice toneless and clinical, “You know that Cora’s brother came to town recently.”

“Yes…” Stiles answers slowly, feeling turned around by the topic. He had felt certain that whatever it was they wanted to talk about had to do with him. He hadn’t even considered that they could be in cahoots over something else.

“And that I met him the other night when I went to meet up with her.”

Stiles nods, mind frantically trying to follow the conversation.

“Well, he’s an alpha and—“

“Stilinski!” The barista calls shrilly, calling the attention of the three and sufficiently cutting Lydia off.

Stiles sighs in exasperation and lifts himself dramatically up, limbs loose. It doesn’t help that his gut is scorching like last time he was here, and every few minutes, the pounding in his head intensifies. He strides purposefully to the counter, placing a hand on either side of the cup tray. He stares fixedly at the guy, a classmate, and inquires, sardonically, “Was that really necessary, Toby? I know it’s hard for your tiny, little brain to comprehend, but was it so very important to yell out across this _empty_ store to get our attention, my dear boy?”

As he speaks, the bell attached to the door chimes and the barista grins smarmily, turning away from him. “I’m sorry, Purple Eyes, I have another customer.”

Stiles glares pointlessly at the guys back as he moves forward to the waiting customer, who he now notices is Cora. His head tilts in irony at her appearance, which reminds him of his unfinished and long awaited conversation. He grabs his cup tray in one hand and swirls excitedly on his heel.

Suddenly, he slams straight into a wall of warmth, and with a splash of scolding liquids, a pain unlike anything he’s ever felt blooms from deep within him. His arms dart out on instinct, dropping their hold on the cup tray now crushed between himself and who-slash-whatever just spawned from hell, and clutched onto the first thing they meet. Which happens to be a set of thick, warm, _bare_ biceps.

Stiles fingers burn with sensation, as if the surface is melting away by tension alone. He yanks back, barely even noticing the scorching coffee spread all down his favorite Batman shirt. His gaze is frantic, first on the large chest in front of him, then on his own stained shoes, and up again, into the face of this person whose skin was made of acid.

Hazel eyes stare raptly back at him, so intense and vivid that they are all he can see.

And in the next second, his own eyes are being shredded by invisible razors, and he hears himself scream in agony, his torso bending inward as he clutches his face frantically. He distantly hears voices, crying—someone moaning loudly, mournfully—before everything turns black.

^-^-^-^

Derek remembers everything, and nothing. Every scorching breath, every agonized sob, is both all he can summon and completely foreign to him. Had he been burned again? The question slices through his mind with venom, and even now, with his mind raw with torture and dimmed of memory, he knows that no common fire caused that pain.

He does remember deep, chocolatey eyes staring insatiably into him, burning a hole in his head, like a branding.

His head aches with an old soreness as he shifts uncomfortably. He frowns, twisting in even more confusion. Where is he? The only scent he’s picking up is his own emotional turmoil—so strong it overpowers everything else—laced with some weak strand of something else, something sticky-sweet like maple butter. In fact, Derek finds it intoxicating once he’s zeroed in on it. If he didn’t know any better, he would say it reminds him of—

“He lives,” a familiar voice croaks from somewhere to his right. His head jerks, and he tries desperately to lift his heavy lids to see.

Derek’s vision is blurry with film when he discerns the figure seated beside him. Still, he would recognize his best friend anywhere, and he hears his heart beat pick up, both in his chest and from the machine he is hooked up to, at the sight. He feels a small smile lift his cheeks.

“You wouldn’t believe the dream I just had,” his voice is thick with sleep, and feels detached from himself.

“Anything to do with your long-lost Soulmate?” she counters, dark eyebrow raising toward her forehead.

Derek frowns again. Had it been real, then? All that pain… Could that have been his Soulmate? He feels a sudden fire in his chest at the thought, that his supposed love of life had put him through that kind of trauma.

“Yeah, that’s the face I was expecting,” Erica remarks, and when he glances up at her, sees her fond smile.

“What happened to him? Where is he?”

“On the other side of that wall—doing about a thousand times worse than you,” she answers simply.

Instantly the fire is gone from Derek, heart thumping in overdrive again as his mind registers the implication. He hurt his Soulmate just as much as, if not worse than, he had been hurt. The idea of this, already, sends a terror and pain in him echoing throughout his body, and he hardly notices the instinctual whine of displeasure that erupts from his throat.

Erica giggles at that, being able to hear and smell each alter in his ever-shifting mood. She leans back in her seat and says, “Cora is down in the hospital cafeteria pretending to eat. They’ve been here all night.”

“They?”

“That redhead is with her.”

“Lydia?” Derek questions, not waiting for a confirmation. “But I thought they were fighting—about me. Why would she be here?”

Erica clears her throat, looking like she is definitely hiding something, and Derek is instantly on guard. She sighs, staring at her hands, and says, “That probably should be answered by Cora. So let’s just say, turns out, she has a vested interest here that you were not aware of.”

“But Cora was aware of this interest,” he deduces, voice skeptical.

“Look, Derek, this is family stuff. But—just—I would ask her about Stiles when she gets back,” she murmurs, moving to stand, hands sliding to her knees.

“’Stiles’?” Derek repeats, befuddlement etched in the lines of his face—though some sensation somewhere sends a small thrill down his spine at the word--gaze following his friend as she crosses the room to the door. “What the hell is a _‘Stiles’_?”

Her cackle echoes out in the hall and reaches him with an oddly offensive irony. Derek groans in frustration at the ambiguity of his dumb friend, and what is she even doing here anyway? And why does she somehow know more about his situation than he does? He is seriously considering getting up out of this stupid, lumpy bed and figuring out what the hell is going on when he is distracted by a noise.

It’s faint and oozes into his room through the shared wall of his Soulmate, and he wouldn’t have bothered to catch it now if it weren’t for the soft familiarity there. Somewhere in the back of his head, he had been ignoring the feeble strain of conversation from the other room that his wolf hearing granted him—mostly out of habit—but now he is strangely aware of the fact that he has been the subject of it. And he can’t help straining to hear every note, every peal, of the pleased laughter emitting from the wall. It seems to catalyze the blooming of that odd scent in his own aroma, solidifying it into an actual emotion, rather than just a dim impression of a  smell.

He is just wondering what is so funny when his sister strides furiously through the room to his bed.

“Derek, how are you feeling?” she demands, voice strained anxiously.

For a second, her scent overwhelms him, for not only does it hold remnants of Erica, Isaac—a pleasant surprise—and Lydia, along with a tinge of other unfamiliar ones, but it also permeates a particularly potent scent which he is all too familiar with. Though it is admittedly faint, Derek heats with jealousy at the knowledge that another wolf—sister or not—smells like his mate.

Understanding its idiocy, he tries to tamp down the instinct, but a low rumble escapes him all the same.

“Derek,” Cora begins, and her tone tells him that she knows what information he needs from her, but he can sense her hesitation. “I have some explaining to do.”

He grunts, because he doesn’t trust his voice.

“So, you found your Soulmate,” she begins with forced cheer. He glares back in answer. “And he’s here. I’ve been in with him—to check how he was doing…”

“Cora,” Derek growls, unable to keep his mouth shut.

“And I may have been a little misleading about how much I knew about him… before—“

“ _You lied to me_.”

“No!” She quickly insists. “I really didn’t, Derek. I didn’t have any idea until you told me about the visions, and telepathy, or whatever… And I wanted to tell you as soon as I was sure, but Lydia—“

“ _She convinced you to lie to your own brother about his_ Soulmate?”

“Of course not, Derek, don’t be a drama queen,” she admonishes, forgetting her regret for the moment. “No, she just wanted to be able to talk to him about everything that you as a Soulmate implied beforehand, and yeah, at first, I was really mad at her, but it actually gave me a chance to talk to you—“

“ _This_ is what you wanted to talk to me about at the café?” Derek demands incredulously, “The fact that you found my Soulmate before me?”

She nods jerkily, and though her jaw is tight and her chin is tilted high, he notices the shaking in her fingers. He sighs, reluctantly reaching over to wrap his own cold hand around hers. He hears her gasp of relief.

“I really had no idea that they would be there, I swear,” she proclaims, fingers gently squeezing his.

He raises her hand to his lips and plants a brief kiss there on her cold skin, hoping to convey all the things he doesn’t seem to possess the strength to say.

“Well?” He murmurs eventually, when they have both nearly seized shaking. “How is he?”

He almost fears her response, feeling afraid of what her answer will make real. He has a Soulmate. He found his Soulmate. And he is apparently hurting. But she answers calmly, “He’s okay. It’s just been… a little harder for his body to bounce back. The immediate physical contact at your meeting was a little much, seeing how most Soulmates would catch each other's eyes from across a crowded room or whatever.

“The doctor said that your body’s went into a kind of shock, because of that. And your vitals started rising almost by the time the ambulance got to the coffee shop, because of your werewolf healing, but Stiles didn’t start ‘rebooting’, so to speak, until late last night. And even now, he’s in so much pain that he’s been on morphine for hours.”

And there is that odd word again: Stiles. But the way she had used it confuses Derek. It is almost like his Soulmates’ _name_ is—

Holy hell.

“’Stiles’,” he repeats for the second time, and just like before, feels a small thrill, “My Soulmate’s name is Stiles, isn’t it?”

Cora nods, though it’s not much of a question. Derek already knows. It’s exactly his luck that he would be forever bound to a ‘Stiles’. Nope, couldn’t just be Ben, or Andrew. He has to be a Stiles. He shakes his head in bemusement, and a small snort escapes.

In the other room, he hears a kind, oddly familiar voice murmur, “ _He’s making fun of your name again._ ”

And then, Derek’s whole body tingles as he hears a fainter, weaker voice reply, “ _Hey! My name is awesome. Someone go punch my Soulmate_.”

“I want to see him.”

They are the next words out of his mouth, and he’s barely got them out before he is trying to pull himself from the bed. Cora’s hands find his shoulders, and she uses her full wolf strength to hold him down.

“No, Derek, you still need to rest.”

“It’s just the other room, Cora.”

“ _She’s right, Derek. Besides, Stiles isn’t exactly up for visitors right now,_ ” the same voice calls in a slightly louder, but still low pitch.

Another, much older, voice adds, “ _Stiles wouldn’t want his Soulmate’s first impression of him to be made while he is high on morphine._ ”

“ _Hey!_ ” Derek’s Soulmate speaks again, and Derek nearly yanks himself up again at the sound. “ _You don’t speak for me, old man. I’m as fit as a fiddle. And anyway, what kinda name is Derek? At least, mine’s got some pizzazz—_ “

“ _Alright, Stiles, that’s enough,_ ” a third voice speaks, and this time Derek instantly recognizes it as Lydia. “ _Time for you to rest._ ”

Derek listens intently as sheets ruffle over themselves, presumably Stiles being tucked in, and three different footsteps follow each other out of the room and into the hall. Derek stretches his neck around his sister to see Lydia and two men standing beside her in the doorway to his room. Lydia immediately moves to Cora’s side, and the two sidle over to the foot of the bed, while the two strange men inch closer to Derek’s head.

As they do, Derek realizes he’s mistaken in calling at least one of them a man, for he can’t be older than seventeen. However, his physique is that of a fully grown man, or a highly developed werewolf. His hair is dark and shaggy across his face, complimenting his dark skin and eyes well. The man beside him is his opposite. Though he is sturdy in build, his hair and skin are light and his eyes are blue. They could be complete strangers, yet there is a connection between them, in the way they stand shoulder to shoulder, that Derek’s wolf tells him means _family_.

“Derek,” Cora announces suddenly, “this is Scott, and John.”


	4. I Would Hate You If I Could

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the kudos guys, you are angels!!! please feel free to leave any comments or suggestions, i would love to hear from you ^u^
> 
> also, the chap title is the title of a song by turnover -- which i am obsessed with

When Stiles wakes up, the first thing he hears is his dad. His deep, commanding voice is soothing after having what happened. Ever since the Sheriff found out that not only one, but two of his sons were werewolves, he’s been extremely protective of Stiles. Stiles knows it’s just the fear of reliving the death of a family member, but… it’s always hard to hear the brokenness in his father’s voice whenever he has been in an accident. Luckily, this one isn’t his fault, which lessens his guilt.

“All I am going to say is,” he says, tone strong and threatening, “that you better not so much as make my son cry, or I’ll come after you. And don’t think you’ll be able to get away just ‘cause you’re some fancy alpha. I’m a Sheriff and a dad.”

“Double threat,” Scott chides in jerkily. “And he’s not the only one you’ll have to deal with.”

Stiles opens his eyes in confusion, gaze darting from one face to the other. He is even more shocked to see that the two are glaring at _him_ , as if he’s who they are threatening. But then another voice speaks, and Stiles hears it close to him, but also feels it in his chest, and suddenly he understands. He must be seeing through his Soulmate—through Derek’s eyes.

“I really don’t think…” Another glance between the two men, and he sighs, “Okay, consider your warning headed.”

Stiles kind of wants to laugh at the whole transaction. If the nearly overpowering sense of belonging consistently streaking between Derek and him is any indication, they probably couldn’t hurt one another if they wanted to. Ever since he first woke up in the hospital, his skin burning and his head splitting, something deep inside of him had felt settled. Even now, in this dream-like state, he feels more content and sated by Derek’s sheer closeness than he thinks he ever has in his life.

“Also,” Lydia’s jilted, unresolved voice breaks Stiles thoughts as she steps closer to Derek to speak, “I wanted you to understand why I didn’t want Cora to talk to you about everything.”

Now, this catches Stiles attention. He was only awake for a few hours before the pain got so bad that they had to give him morphine, and he started coming in and out of consciousness. He still hasn’t discussed anything of real importance besides what he’s doing in the hospital and who’s on the other side of the wall.

“Because there’s a viable explanation for making someone keep a life-altering secret from their brother,” Derek retorts in contempt, and though it is normally Stiles’ instinct to defend his friends’ honor, all he can think about is how many times he had cried in front of Lydia and Scott, and how many of those times did they hold the cure to that pain in their heads?

“It’s not what you think,” she insists, and the sincerity and regret there almost makes Stiles wonder if she somehow knows he’s listening. “You have to see that everything I know about you has come from Cora... and most of that was from when she first came to Beacon Hills. Alone, and grieving. She didn’t exactly paint a picture of a guy I would want my best friend spending his life with.”

“So you made a judgement about a person you didn’t even know based on opinions and kept the identity of said friends _Soulmate_ hidden _?”_

Stiles gasps as the words come tumbling out of his mouth. Or rather, out of Derek’s mouth. How had that happened? He was just thinking, he didn’t mean to actually speak. But Derek doesn’t seem to notice the lack of authenticity of his words, and neither does anyone else.

“I’m sorry I asked your sister to lie to you, Derek. But I would do anything to protect Stiles from someone who might hurt him, and I’m not sorry for that.”

Stiles feels a little tug in his chest, and he feels himself cave. He’s never been able to stay mad at Lydia. There’s just something about her. He is however surprised by Derek’s next words, “I understand. No hard feelings.”

The group visibly relaxes at the subtle forgiveness. Cora puts a hand on Derek’s shoulder, and Stiles oddly feels it. It’s like when his leg would fall asleep, and he would know Scott is poking it for fun, but it doesn’t really connect fully.

“Well,” Scott says, “Now that that’s finished, we should let you get some rest.”

“I—I want to see him,” Derek interrupts suddenly, and Stiles feels his heart stutter at the words.

The Sheriff huffs, “We told you, Stiles is sleeping. He’s exhausted.”

“He may be sleeping, but he’s not getting any rest anyway.”

Stiles sees his own confusion echoed in the faces of his family. He doesn’t see where this is going, and to be honest, he’s kind of afraid to actually be face to face with his Soulmate.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that Stiles may not be fully recovered, but he’s curious. He wants to see me too.”

Stiles feels an involuntary shiver at his name coming from Derek’s mouth. It seems to yell out at him in the sentence, whereas before he just heard the name and a gust of anticipation. Maybe Derek is right, he realizes. Maybe Stiles is weirdly ready to actually meet him. However, the sudden churning in his gut doesn’t seem to be on the same page.

“Fine, I’ll go get a nurse to bring in a wheelchair,” Cora announces, striding bouncily out of the room.

Then the veil of darkness covers his eyes, and Stiles slowly sinks back into unconsciousness, as if something in him is now unclenched at the concession of their meeting.

^-^-^-^-^

“Stiles?”

Derek watches aptly from his wheelchair parked beside the bed as Stiles opens his eyes. It isn’t gradual like he was expecting. Instead, it’s quick, jerky blinks that somehow feel even more real. He gulps as those familiar brown eyes instantly fall on him, though it is his father who has summoned him from sleep, hovering over him protectively.

Derek can’t help the small smile that touches his face. Even with the stench of medication and strangers, even with the needles and tubes and rumpled dirty hair, he is intoxicating. He never even knew that moles could be so erotic. Each one is like a masterpiece dabbed into his pale skin, teasing Derek. His lips are dry, but plumb, and he has sleep in the corners of his eyes, but they are hypnotizing. All these years, and he never knew that the most underrated color eyes are the deepest, purest mystifying things in the world.

All of five seconds go by as the two examine each other, but Derek thinks it may go on forever until Stiles breaks the silence.

“Damn.”

John chides his son while Cora snickers humorously from behind Derek. He had honestly come kind of close to forgetting the others are here. He doesn’t look around, though, just clears his throat.

“Surprised?”

A sarcastic snort erupts from him, and Derek can’t help another smile, and honestly what is going on? He doesn’t smile this much for anyone.

“Dude, are you kidding?” Stiles exclaims, energy in his voice that makes something in Derek way too excited. “You look like a porn star I know of.”

“And that’s my cue to leave,” Lydia exclaims in mock disgust, grabbing Cora on her way.

“Actually, you’re hotter than a porn star,” Stiles insists, delight in his croaky voice. “Are you sure this is the right guy?”

He turns to his father, but the others have all backed away to the door. They stare back at him in horror, and Derek watches on in bemusement.

“Alright, Stiles,” John says accommodatingly, “Why don’t you two talk in private?”

“Gee, I didn’t even think about it, but—sure, Dad, sounds like a plan.”

The door closes behind them, and Stiles watches it for moment, face relaxed in triumph. Derek watches him, leaning back in his wheelchair, feeling a lot of stuff he can’t really name. To be honest, he really just can’t take his eyes away from Stiles himself. The guy could be murdering someone in front of him, and Derek isn’t sure he would be able to look away.

“Ahem,” Derek clears his throat uncomfortably, unsure of how to approach the boy, but still needing to ask the question. “Can—I mean, do you—“

“Spit it out, bud,” Stiles says easily, lazy, amused grin in place.

“Do you see the color of my eyes?” Derek finally blurts out.

Stiles’ face grows a little more serious as his gaze moves to Derek’s eyes. Derek waits in anticipation, afraid to move, afraid to speak. Finally, the boy gulps and breathes, “Yeah. No purple, though.”

“Yeah, yours aren’t either.”

“But I thought that Niches couldn’t go away,” Stiles murmurs, voice small and innocent somehow.

“They, uh, they can’t.”

He frowns, continuing to stare at Derek, as if the answer to the unspoken question is somewhere in his depths.  Eventually he speaks, “I can’t believe you’re the guy that’s been in my head for the last month.”

“And you’re the kid that forced me to relocate,” Derek retorts fluidly, barely recognizing himself. “Better have been worth it.”

“Oh,” Stiles chuckles softly, “Low blow, pal. It’s not my fault your wolfy instincts insisted you ‘come rescue me’ from a little bit of anxiety.”

Derek surprises himself with a short guffaw, which he quickly cuts off. Still, his cheeks redden at the outburst. What is with this kid messing with him self-control?

“I’m pretty sure I would’ve ended up here anyway, ‘wolfy instincts’ aside.”

“Speaking of,” Stiles moves to sit up, grunting with the effort. Derek immediately stands to help, but when his eyes see the boy’s skin, he pauses. He doesn’t want to overwhelm Stiles’ system again. He sits back down. “Are they listening?”

Derek is shocked again at the question, mostly because he’s not used to people instantly assuming he’s a wolf. Surprisingly enough, Werewolves have stereotypes too, and people like to associate them with loud, reckless, and wild types. Still, he knows he shouldn’t be too surprised. Stiles must’ve known before that he is Cora’s alpha.

He focuses on the hallway around the room, but only hears the usual beeping of monitors and occasional steps of an attendant. “No.”

“You can never be too sure.”

“I am,” he responds instantly, gaze on Stiles’ face.

Stiles gulps and glances at his hands in his lap. The familiar acidic scent of anxiety trickles into Stiles’ aroma, and Derek knows he’s been too direct, too open. This is the same person who resents and is pained by him. He tries to reign in his growing fondness for Stiles, if only to keep from pushing him away.

“Thanks for that bit about ‘judging someone before you know them’,” he redirects teasingly, “Never would’ve thought of a comeback like that on my own.”

“It wasn’t really a comeback, it was just wrong what she d—“

Stiles looks up in shock, face turning pink. “You knew?”

“Are you saying you _don’t_ notice when someone’s in your head?”

The boy in the bed laughs, and Derek’s heart stutters at the sound, as if his body is now programmed to recognize and react it to it. He immediately thinks about leaning over and pulling Stiles into his chest, feeling his warmth. It’s intoxicating, even the thought.

“Sorry about that,” he murmurs, voice softened by mirth. “So what now?”

“I don’t know,” Derek answers honestly, for the first time letting the question invade his head. His voice softens as he admits, “I just wanted to meet you.”

However, this seems to be the wrong thing to say, because a sudden gust of tension rolls off of Stiles. Derek feels himself shift backward in the sudden shift of atmosphere. He has known the kid for all ten minutes, but he seems to be able to watch the walls gather themselves up around him, creating an impenetrable fortress. The sight brings back the freshness of a thought he had been given weeks ago. The resentment and loathing, so potent, feel like a slap in the face even more now, because this time Stiles has actually met Derek.

Derek supposes some part of him deep down, past the pride, had thought that if he could only meet him—let the boy get to know him—then he would surely change his mind. He can’t be that bad, can he? Sure, he’s a little socially inept and a bit damaged, but… he’s not impossible to love. Right?

A tightness grows in his chest, the hurt being covered by a hard shell of his own bitterness. He clears his throat, pulls himself straighter. Stiles isn’t the only one who can guard himself, he thinks, hating the whininess that even shows through his thoughts.

“Wow, didn’t know werewolves could be such softies,” Stiles complains, a weak layer of sarcasm threaded into his words. He doesn’t look up from his wringing hands, and this time, Derek doesn’t smile.

After a long silence, in which both men stare shamelessly anywhere besides each other, Derek mutters, “I’ll, um, let you get some rest.”

“Totally,” Stiles responds in relief, unwilling to admit any fault for the new tension apparently, “See you later, man.”

Derek wheels himself out of the room as quickly as possible, feeling silly in the chair. He is perfectly able to walk. Why had he even agreed to it? Why had it been so important to go see Stiles in the first place? He didn’t forget about Stiles’ feelings toward him. The boy had made them as clear as he could through the Claiming. Did Derek really think that that had changed? He growls in annoyance at himself, wandering up the hall to the nurse’s station.

“Excuse me, Mr. Hale, do you need something?”

Derek turns and sees his nurse looking him up and down in concern. He tries to smile, but eventually settles for a pained grimace. “I was wondering when I can be released…?”

^-^-^-^-^

It’s been three days, and they are finally letting Stiles leave the hospital. He hasn’t seen Derek since they first talked. Apparently he was released that afternoon. The perks of being a werewolf, Stiles thinks sarcastically.

Whatever, though. He doesn’t need to see Derek. He barely knows the guy. It doesn’t matter that their lives are tethered to one another, or that he has dreamed about his smile since that first night, or that the guy is a fucking wet dream on legs. Seriously Derek has muscles Stiles has never even heard of. Still. Whatever.

Melissa suggests that they host a get-together for everyone, so that Derek and his friends could all get acclimated with one another, when Stiles is released. The thought of Derek in his house has Stiles panting, but he quickly remembers the way the two had left things and insists on some time to get used to the idea.

Stiles refuses to talk about the conversation, though Scott and Lydia immediately begin asking him. Apparently, Derek said something to Cora, who said something to Lydia. Whatever. Stiles didn’t say anything wrong. And anyway, what was the guy expecting? They are complete strangers. Stiles has absolutely done nothing wrong. He continues repeating it, even after Scott and Lydia accept it.

Whatever. It’s whatever. Stiles doesn’t care.

“So, what do you want to play first when we get home? Call of Duty or Halo 3?”

“Either one,” Stiles says confidently, “I can whoop your ass at both.”

“Stiles, language,” The sheriff chides in exasperation, “Actually, we’re having guests over for dinner tonight.”

“Oh, yeah?” Scott answers from backseat.

“Derek and some of his friends.”

“What?” Stiles exclaims, voice irate.

His dad at least has the decency to wince at his tone. He turns to face him fully, ignoring the way his head pounds even harder at the shift.

“Look, Stiles, it wasn’t our idea. His friend called us. What were we supposed to say?”

“Um, ‘no’ would’ve worked..?” Stiles responds sarcastically.

“Stiles, this might be a good thing,” Scott chimes in optimistically. “This could be a second chance at a good impression.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Stiles asks incredulously. “I was perfectly amicable.”

“That’s not what Cora said,” John mutters reluctantly.

Stiles’ gaze swivels between his brother and father in shock. He exclaims, “Whose side are you two even on?”

“Yours, Stiles,” Scott murmurs sadly, face reflecting his pity. "That's the point."

Stiles meets his brother’s eyes. He feels a stone drop in his gut at the look on his face. Did he put that sadness there? He gulps, looking away. “Whatever.”

The rest of the ride is painfully quiet, and when they pull into their driveway, Stiles feels like molasses. He pulls himself reluctantly from the car. His heart begins to race as they reach the door, and he knows that Derek is already inside. He can feel the way the vague discomfort in his chest seems to lift with each step closer.

They step inside to see Derek, Cora, and two strangers sitting together on the couch. Boyd leans nonchalantly against one of the armrests and Melissa is seated in the lazy chair. They all turn to look as Stiles enters behind his father. Stiles gulps audibly, eyes one Derek’s bare arms. They are pretty nice. But whatever.

“Hey guys,” Cora says awkwardly, after a silence that no one seems to want to fill. “This is Erica and Isaac, Derek’s old friends and pack.”

“Glad to have you guys,” Scott welcomes, stepping into the living room and taking control of the situation. God bless that boy, Stiles thinks.

Stiles does notice that Derek refuses to make eye contact with anyone, especially him. He feels his heart sink a little as he realizes he is definitely not going to get a greeting from him. However, he quickly bats the disappointment away, chocking it up to the Claiming.

“I’m Scott, Stiles’ brother, and that’s our dad, John.”

Once everyone is properly introduced, Melissa and John guide the crew into the kitchen where she and Boyd have set up an individual pizza making area. They go through the station creating their pizza, then Melissa puts them in the oven. They head back into the family room.

“So, are the two of you…?”

The blonde haired girl in the leather jacket, Erica, looks up at Melissa in surprise and laughs. “Oh no! Isaac and I are just friends. I actually just broke up with my boyfriend.”

Derek swivels around at that, faint surprise on his face. “You and Jasper aren’t together anymore?”

“He just didn’t get me,” she answers with a roll of the eyes, adding, “There’s nothing really to tell.”

Stiles watches Derek frown at that, turning back to his room-temperature beer—courtesy of Boyd, much to Melissa and John’s chagrin. However, Erica continues, and Stiles notes that she has everyone’s, including Boyd’s, attention, “I’ve known Derek for years. He helped me get through my transformation when I first turned.”

“So, you were born a wolf?” Scott asked, always eager to hear wolf stories.

 “Actually, I was in an accident. I had a seizure while I was driving, and it was the only way they could save me. I was lucky that they found my driver’s license, so that they knew I even wanted to be saved that way.”

A murmur of sympathy crosses the room, and Boyd lightly touches her shoulder from where he is perched on the armrest next to her. Which Stiles finds odd, because his brother hates human contact.

“What about you, Isaac?”

The other man looks up from his pizza in surprise. He takes a glance at Derek, who meets his eyes, and coughs out, “I, uh, was turned a few years back.”

Sensing the hesitation, Stiles is getting ready to step in and change the conversation when Derek shockingly speaks.

“You’re a born wolf, right, Scott?” he continues after a nod of confirmation, “Cora and I had an older sister, Laura. She was the only one in our whole family who wasn’t a wolf, but she was the scariest of us all.”

That gets a lot of laughs and effectively steers the conversation away from Isaac. After a few transactions that completely pull him from the spotlight, Isaac turns to Derek and smiles thankfully. It makes Stiles wonder about the man, but more embarrassingly, it makes his heart thud harder to see the returning grin. Fortunately, all present werewolves seem to be on their best behavior, and no one brings it up.

If Stiles thought that this interaction, however, would thaw Derek’s disposition, he is greatly let down. The man tunes almost exclusively on his food the entire evening, only speaking when directly spoken to. His friends tease him some, but for the most part, he refuses to rise to the bait. He never looks at Stiles, not once the whole night. Stiles doesn’t care, of course.

It’s not like Stiles has been picturing Derek sprawled across his bed since the second he saw him, or anything.

And oh my god, this is so not the time or place to get a hard-on thinking about a guy who clearly wants nothing to do with you. Stiles quickly excuses himself and escapes to the kitchen to hide and possibly splash cold water over his face. He’s just pulling out of the fridge with a coke when Erica strolls into the room. He smiles awkwardly.

“Soda?”

“God, yes,” she says breathlessly, and as he hands his to her and goes back for another, she adds, “My ex was one of those that thinks sugar is poison.”

“Technically,” Stiles answers easily, turning back to her, “But there are plenty of more poisonous things we could be consuming. Might as well enjoy the poisons that feel good.”

“Deep,” she snorts, popping to top and taking a sip.

Stiles shrugs uncomfortably, and rambles, “My friend Lydia says I sound inspirational, because I spend so much time researching pointless crap and know dumb facts that would never be noteworthy if we didn’t have so many werewolf friends.”

She snorts again, arms crossed casually over her chest, and comments, “Then I guess it’s a good thing you Claimed a wolf, huh.”

Stiles feels his jaw clench at the word and quickly nods, eyes on his soda, “Yeah, I’m one lucky guy.”

“Yeah,” she repeats with a sudden vehemence, stepping close and forcing his eyes to meet hers, “You are. So don’t fuck this up.”

Without waiting for a response, she swivels on her boot heel and struts back out into the living room. From where he’s standing staring after her, Stiles can see Boyd meet her halfway to the couch, and strike up a conversation. He watches still in shock, as his brother chats confidently with the girl like she didn’t just basically threaten him. Should he warn Boyd? Then again, Boyd spent his first fifteen years teasing and pranking Stiles mercilessly, so Stiles sees this as karma.

Her words echo in his head all evening, and when they eventually start heading out, Stiles moves to stand by the door. When Derek and his pack are walking out, Stiles clears his throat and says, “Bye, Derek. Thanks for coming.”

Derek halts in front Stiles in surprise, gaze meeting his. Stiles breath catches at those eyes. It’s the first time he’s really looked into them since they talked in the hospital about their Niche disappearing, which nobody else seems to care much about. They are still just as striking. What the fuck kind of color even is that? He wonders.

“Yeah, um, see ya around.”

And then he’s gone, and Stiles is staring at Lydia’s old Volvo station wagon pulling up to his curb. So apparently finding out your best friend’s Soulmate is your girlfriend’s brother warrants getting driving privileges back. They pile in, and then they’re driving away. Stiles continues to stand there, feeling all kinds of weird, and wonders when they’ll be back.

^-^-^-^-^

In the car, all Derek can think about is the sound of Stiles’ breath hitching and laying stagnant on his tongue. His eyes squeeze shut as he hears it again. Of course, he had noticed that Stiles stared at him for the majority of the evening, and when he had left and gone to the kitchen, Derek had gotten a faint whiff of arousal on his scent that had sent him into a near frenzy. No one else seemed to catch it, but Derek thinks it was more noticeable for him, because it was more than just lust. It was yearning, it was directed. It was for him.

He squeezed his eyes shut again, jaw clenched even tighter. There is no way that Stiles just suddenly got on board with the idea of him in the last 72 hours. Still, he had reached out to him. He couldn’t help wondering…

“So, Derek. Your Soulmate is…” Isaac starts, but after an unnatural pause in which he tries to find a way to describe him, he gives up.

“He’s definitely something else. But at least he took the hint and pulled himself together at the end,” Erica comments.

Derek frowns, turning to his friend. “What hint?”

“Oh, I just had a little talk with him in the kitchen, nothing major,” she speaks casually, “Oh, don’t worry, Derek. I didn’t scare him too bad. I would be able to tell.”

She taps the side of her nose twice to emphasize her point. However, Derek swivels back to face the window. Of course, that makes sense. He did it, because Erica told him to step it up. Right. Of course. Because Derek’s Soulmate is a young, adventurous, arrogant kid, who doesn’t want to be tied down and thinks he can do better.

Anything even resembling that warm, gooey feeling he had felt in the hospital, that feeling of _hope_ , is now gone from him.

“See, Derek. Aren’t you glad you came?”

Derek nods absently, “Yeah, fine.”

^-^-^-^-^

“So, can you explain to me again why exactly you hate Derek so much?”

“I don’t hate him,” Stiles exclaims incredulously, “It’s just that I didn’t change my mind because I met him and he turned out to be, like, Greek God level of beauty.”

Kira giggles sweetly, and comments, “Okay, since you brought it up. Can we please talk about the fact that Stiles’ Soulmate looks like a young, rugged, Sam Elliot if he was also Latino?”

Scott uses his arm that is wrapped around Kira’s shoulder to pull her in and kiss her forehead affectionately. Then he turns to Stiles and adds, “But seriously. Even I can appreciate the fact that Derek is attractive and nice and trustworthy, and I was the one trying to protect you from him.”

“Uh, uh,” Stiles raises a finger, correcting his brother, “’Tried to keep me away from him.’ Big difference, pal.”

“Fine,” He says, letting Kira go only to take her hand in his. “Stiles, what’s the hold up? You two obviously have _something_ , or else the universe wouldn’t have decided that you were the perfect match for each other.”

“Yeah, well. The universe made a mistake, because I’m not some alpha’s little chew toy to fuck around with whenever he gets bored. And I’m sure as hell not living in Beacon Hills for the rest of my life.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Scott intones, understanding touching his face. He pulls the trio to a halt in front of the entrance to the school library and faces his best friend. “So, that’s what this is about.”

“ _What_?”

“Stiles, you know as well as I do that you’re not going to be here forever. But you’re also not going to bail out and never see any of us again, because you could never leave dad like that,” Scott argues confidence hardening every word. “You don’t like him, because he’s a werewolf.”

“What? Of course not, my _brothers_ are werewolves. Why would I care—“

“Stiles,” Scott admonishes quietly, voicelessly asking his brother not to make him say what they are both thinking.

However, Stiles looks away, refusing to acknowledge him. “I love you, Scott, but you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Then he turns and struts off in the opposite direction. Scott doesn’t try to follow him, and they both know why. He can’t fix what’s broken between them, and he doesn’t need another relationship in his life like that one.

He decides to skip class that day, and after driving aimlessly around town for half an hour, finds himself at the café. He stalks into the shop with his head down and makes for the counter.

“Iced latte, please,” he mutters.

This time, he stands by the counter and waits, having officially learned his lesson. Unfortunately for Stiles, because god hates him, as he turns with his coffee, his eyes lock on the one person he really, really doesn’t need to see right now. He tries to move innocuously to the door, so that maybe he can somehow escape this nightmare—but as he steps around a table where a woman sits reading and sipping her herbal tea, Stiles clips the side of his hip into the counter hard enough that the noise and the pain actually resonate.

He grimaces where he’s bent over the counter, feeling the eyes of the few patrons on him. Still, he has to look and see. Stiles straightens slightly and glances over his shoulder, and sure enough, Derek is staring dead at him.

Now that they have officially made eye contact, there is no way that Stiles can just walk away. And even if Derek let him, how stupid would he feel sitting across the room from his Soulmate, ignoring each other? He sighs in defeat, and begins walking back over to where Derek sits.

“Oh, hey,” He goes for nonchalance, but he is not a smooth guy on a good day, and this performance is agreeably pathetic. “What’s up, man?”

“I was going over some work at the coffee shop, at ten in the morning, on a Monday. What about you?”

Stiles laughs gracelessly and says, “Yeah, I—um, decided to take a sick day.”

Derek’s eyebrows rise comically, and his gaze roves over Stiles’ body in way that makes Stiles feel both judged and a little sticky. Finally, he remarks, “Yeah. You sure seem sick.”

Stiles gulps, and he knows that his heart is going a mile a minute and that he is basically salivating, and that Derek can hear and smell all of this—which just makes it that much worse. But what can he do? The man looks like he just stepped out of a photo shoot for an all-leather clothing line or something (and don’t even get him started on the stubble).

“Do you want to sit?”

Stiles nods quickly and pulls the opposite chair from under the table. As he lower himself, he glances at the papers scattered in front of Derek. They look like magazine covers with lots of different pictures and layouts. He frowns.

“What do you do exactly?”

Derek glances down at his papers, putting an elbow on either side of the table, and says, “I’m a media consultant.”

Stiles looks back up at him, eyebrows lifting. The two stare at each other for moment, before Stiles thoroughly discerns that he is not going to get a better explanation of that. He sits back in surrender.

“Alright.”

They settle in, Derek turning back to his papers and Stiles fidgeting with his homework, but definitely not doing it. It’s quiet for a while, but Stiles has always had a bit of a problem with silence, and because of this, eventually he has to find a way to revive some hope of conversation.

“So, what kind of movies do you watch?”

Nothing.

“I myself like DC over Marvel, but that’s more about character development than actual authenticity…”

He sighs, watching Derek compare two sheets of boring, dumb paper instead of pay attention to him.

“So, where were you before you came to Beacon Hills?”

“Nevada.”

“Oh,” This surprises Stiles, who to be honest was kind of expecting him to say someplace like Illinois or Ohio. “How was that?”

“Hot.”

“Must be crazy being in a place like this after that, huh. All mild weather, and boring people…”

“In my experience so far, it’s been anything but boring,” he says through a sigh, not looking up from his work.

Stiles frowns, feeling a weird sensation in stomach. He thought Derek just seemed busy, or annoyed, or bored, all things Stiles has faced when it came to his relationships with people. But the less Derek says, the more Stiles is realizing that Derek might genuinely hate him. This is unsettling for Stiles, because he is a delightful person, and just no.

“Did you have any relationships in Nevada, back before everything?” he asks, because personal questions are the only kind of questions.

“No.”

“Well, I had one,” he continues, unfazed by the lack of reciprocation. “Actually, I was with her for a couple years.”

Derek doesn’t look up, but Stiles notices him gulp and start grinding his teeth.

“I probably would’ve married her if…” Stiles pauses, trying not to let himself go too far, but just far enough. “Her name’s Malia. She broke things off when I got Claimed.”

Derek clears his throat, murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

Stiles takes a sip of his coffee, stares at his hands. “I thought I was in love with her. I thought that I would never care about anyone the way I cared about her… And even after all this started, after she left, I just knew that… that I was in love with her, and I always would be. And you know something?”

“What?” Derek asks, and Stiles looks up to see that he is staring at him, and there is sadness in his eyes. But for himself or for Stiles, he doesn’t know.

“I haven’t even really thought about her since you got to town. I feel it now, that that was ‘like’—strong ‘like’, sure—but with this whole Claiming bond thing… I can tell that I’ve never been in love. It feels so hollow, you know?”

“My uncle was Claimed.”

“What?”

“He met his Soulmate when I was nine. And then, when I was sixteen, he lost her. All because I thought I was in love.”

“Dude, wait,” Stiles leans forward on the table, holding his hands up pleadingly. “ _What?_ ”

“I met a girl named Kate when I was fifteen. She was my friend, Isaac’s girlfriend’s aunt. But she was nice to me, and I was young. I didn’t see… Turns out she was a Hunter, and also, she was off her medication. And when she tried to kill the alpha of my pack, Uncle Peter, his Joy got in the way. She wanted him alive to take care of us.

“My idiocy of thinking that I was _in love_ with a twenty year old woman cost me my aunt, my uncle, and my sister,” his voice is jilted and agonized, and Stiles feels like he has just been struck with a knife.

He gulps and reaches across the table where Derek is crumpling a harmless piece of paper. He hesitantly lays a finger on his hand, and when Derek twitches in shock, wraps his finger around his. They are softer than Stiles expected, and warm, like a Werewolf usually is. It’s somehow comforting.

“Once, I stubbed my toe and sat on the curb crying for a straight hour,” He murmurs, voice deadly serious. “My mom had to come pick me up. I was fourteen.”

To the surprise of both of them, Derek breaks into a grin, laughing softly. Stiles grins happily, barely noticing the way he leans impossibly closer over the table.

“Don’t talk to me about idiocy, buddy,” he chuckles teasingly.

Derek snorts, fingers closing over Stiles’, and the feeling—the trust in that action—sends a chill through Stiles. He gulps.

“Marvel.”

“Hunh,” Stiles murmurs, eyes on Derek’s perfectly plump lips.

“I’m more a Marvel fan than DC.”

Stiles blinks, pulling back, as the words register. He scoffs, “Are you kidding me. Marvel? How? How could you do that to me, Derek? Really, why do you want to hurt me?”

This time, Derek full-on guffaws. He bites his lip and exclaims, “Captain America? The X-men?”

“Oh, please. Don’t even go there with me. One, Captain America is basically just Superman, but more killable. Two, DC has two _Earths_. How can a group of hated, and sometimes evil, mutants top _alternate universes?_ ”

“Yeah, I can’t imagine why I might be partial to a person that mutates into some otherworldly creature…”

Thirty minutes later, Stiles gets his third call from Lydia. He sighs and tells Derek he will be right back. Standing and putting the phone to his ear.

“Hey there, Sunshine, how’s it hanging?”

“Don’t you sass me, Stilinski,” She exclaims loudly, and Stiles yanks his ear back an inch from the phone. “Where the hell are you, and why haven’t you been answering your phone?”

“I decided to take a sick day.”

“A _sick day?_ ”

“Yeah,” Stiles responds, easily, “I was getting sick of sitting in class.”

“Ha ha, you’re hilarious,” she says acidly, “Did you, in your illness, happen to forget that we are presenting our project today?”

“Oh,” Stiles winces in shame, “That I did, that I did. I’m sorry, Lyds.”

“Just get here. _Now_.”

The phone goes dead before he can respond, and he turns back to the table. Derek is already standing, getting his things together.

“You heard?”

“Got the jist,” he answers smoothly.

“Sorry, I, um…” Stiles clears his throat, suddenly uncomfortable again. “I’m sorry to leave, and all that…”

“Right,” Derek murmurs, straightening and turning to look directly at Stiles.

His face has that openness again, and Stiles feels himself tensing. But he doesn’t want to see that sadness in those hazel green eyes again, so he takes a breath, grins and says, “Don’t worry, big guy. We’ll settle this dispute yet.”

The laugh he gets for that one will carry him through the rest of the day, and into the next few. He just has one thought that perches in the back of his head, disturbing him anytime he lets it get to the forefront: Did he just go on his first date with Derek?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw, if anyone is interested, i'm also on tumblr user obriensbetch


	5. Numb, But I Still Feel It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost, i want to make aware that there is language in this chapter that could be triggering to some. Please check the end notes for more details before you start reading, if you have any trigger-sensitivity!
> 
> In addition, omg you guys thank you so much for reading and commenting, you have all been so amazingly sweet!
> 
> I wanna quickly apologize for taking so long with this chapter. I have been suuuuper busy with AP classes and graduation junk. But I'm going to work hard to be more active in finishing this guy up!
> 
> Also the name of this chap is a song by 'title fight'

This has got to stop. The first time was fate, the second time a coincidence, but a man's got to draw the line somewhere. 

Today marks the fourth time that Stiles and Derek have "bumped" into each other since the latter arrived in Beacon Hills. Now, one could argue that this ratio has to do with the sheer size of the quaint town; however, after learning that not only does he have a Soulmate that resents him, a Sheriff father-in-law, and  _two_ werewolf brother-in-laws--one of which is apparently wooing his best friend--Derek is quite certain that these encounters can be categorized by nothing other than a curse.

Of course, Cora isn't having any of that.

"Derek, are you literally three years old? You aren't  _cursed._ "

Derek pouts pathetically, and retorts, "How else would you describe us ending up in the same place at the same time every couple of days, without fail?"

"Soul bonded."

Derek sighs for eternity, hating that answer more than anything else.

"You were chosen by the universe, Derek. It's literally a cosmic love. Did you think you could just ignore him?" She asks, staring incredulously at him over the navy overnight bag she has been filling.

"It's not about ignoring him, Cor. He doesn't want me."

"Oh, quit whining."

"Excuse me?" He chokes out in shock.

He watches his sister turn to stare at him in resignation. Her lips set in a way that tells him she's either sorry to hurt him, or just sorry to waste her time on the subject at all.

"No, I think you've pretty much got it covered with the excuses," she starts haughtily. "Look, most people spend their whole relationships having to guess about how the other person feels, what they're thinking. As far as I can see, you have it just as bad as the rest of us."

"But--"

"So, stop complaining."

"It's not the same, and you know it," He insists.

"Goodbye, Derek!"

And with that, she is slamming the door shut behind her. Derek resists the urge the bite something.

"Oh, don't let her get under your skin, Der."

His body remains rigid nonetheless, as Erica comes sauntering up from behind him. She glides around him, hand moving comfortingly over his shoulder.

Derek breathes heatedly through his nose, and snaps, "Are you off to see Boyd then?"

"Derek!" She exclaims with an innocent scoff, "I am offended by your assumption."

"I can smell your excitement under the bottle of perfume you bathed in."

Erica laughs indulgently, letting her head fall back in glee. "So, that means I'm probably not going to be camouflaging my scent, huh?"

Derek eyes her sparkling eyes and mischievous grin. He has to admit that the budding relationship between Erica and Boyd has been increasingly beneficial to her overall countenance. He teases her, but he doesn't really pay the flirtation too much attention. Derek has seen Erica go through nicer guys than Boyd--and faster, too. This new energy he keeps sensing through their pack bond is just because of the freshness of her break-up with James. Or was it Jack?

"Have fun."

"I'd promise not to do anything you wouldn't do, but then I couldn't do  _anything--"_

Derek stands, watching the door for another moment. He lets it sink in that he is actually, truly alone for the first time since he's been in Beacon Hills. With Isaac off running the perimeter--Derek isn't sure if the younger man will ever be completely comfortable in such a confined space again--and Stiles AWOL from their link, he finally, finally has his mind and space to himself. And he isn't quite sure why it feels so damn empty.

Derek has lived an isolated life for years. This is his normal.

Except it's not anymore, and he knows it.

Ever since that strong, whiny, spirited, insecure, relentless presence cropped up in his head, this has been his normal. Like an ever-present security camera, he has seen his moves be ridiculed and scrutinized by his uncle, sister, and later, Stiles' family. Of course, he doesn't, by any means, relish the responsibility. It's just that... he's gotten used to it, the way he had been used to the bombarding trample of toddlers and constant stream of familial brawls back before everything happened.

So, what the fuck is he supposed to do with himself now?

~

Stiles hasn't really had a real talk with his brother since they argued over Derek. And Stiles firmly insists that it is both dignified and not his fault that this is the case.

He hasn't really spoken to Derek since the day at the coffee shop, although they've seen each other enough times. Stiles is honestly starting to suspect foul play. Cosmic foul play.

Like, okay, he gets it. They're a perfect match, but that doesn't necessarily mean that they are destined to be together. Plenty of Soulmates have platonic relationships. Of course, usually that's only the result of genetic malfunction or brain damage. But still. It happens.

So yeah, Stiles did a little research when he found out. Whatever. There's no crime in that. Besides, it's not like he went searching for morally ambiguous articles, or anything... Well, he likes seedy sites with potentially sinister motives. They are always controversial, and Stiles is nothing if not controversial.

Anyway, there are thousands of entries about imperfect Claimings. People are rejecting their Soulmates every day.

Stiles has kept that assurance close to heart ever since he met Derek. Today is no different.

"Catch it, Stilinski!" 

Stiles lunges, arms outstretched and lungs screaming, but he lands on his side heavily, and glancing up, sees that the only thing he has caught is a whole lotta torn-up grass.

 "Nice, loser. Thanks for losing us the game."

Brendon snipe's at him as he reaches down and helps him up. Stiles jerks to his feet and wipes habitually at his pants. They walk stiffly back toward the team, with a wide girth between them.

This is exactly the kind of thing that Stiles is worried about: the distraction from his normal life that Derek causes.

"Sorry, guys."

"Where's your head at, Stilinski? You know we have you starting this Saturday--what are you trying to do, sabotage the game?" 

Snickering erupts between Brendan and his friends as he saunters to Finstock's side and chides, "Don't you remember, Coach? Stiles got himself a hot new piece of ass over the weekend. I mean, I always knew you were a fag, but you really went all out with this chick-flick Soulmate thing."

More laughter breaks out within the huddled teenagers, and Stiles feels his face heating. 

"How did you even get a 'wolf like that anyway?" One of Brendan's friends chimes in, "What'd you have to do to convince an  _Alpha_ to screw you?"

At that, a new kind of burn slices through Stiles. His teeth clench in pain as a howl of uncontrollable rage lurches in his head. The players around him stand oblivious to the violent wrath directed at them, but Scott's head jerks up toward the trees, as Stiles desperately attempts to decipher which emotions in his head belong to whom.

"Yeah, Stilinski, this is a new low. Do you even have any dignity left?" Another guy adds, unaware of the true danger this meaningless comment puts him in.

"Obviously, I still have some, if I haven't stooped to any of you yet," he growls, glaring murderously at the boys.

This only adds to their mirth and Derek's ire.

"Alright, boys, that's enough," Finstock's cuts in. "Stilinski, get your head right before Saturday. Brendan, try and control yourself for one afternoon, huh? Alright, hit the locker room!"

Unfortunately, as the others disperse, Stiles is still catching that abominable anger in his head and it's not helping his focus  _at all._ He remains on the field for awhile, hoping it will dissolve.

"Hey man..." He hears and turns to see Scott staring worriedly over at him. "You alright? Those guys are just ignorant dicks."

"I'm fine," Stiles snaps, still channeling Derek's rage. "Just leave me alone."

"Fine," Scott responds, the coldness that has been in his voice since their fight restored.

Then Stiles watches numbly as his brother jaunts jerkily away from him. 

~

So tensions have been high. Derek knew that, but he'd had no idea how badly it was affecting Stiles' relationship with his brother. Even before they found each other, Derek could feel the bond the brothers shared. Of course, there were moments of conflict, a snag in the string of trust and reliance that permeated between the two. But this-- whatever is happening to the friendship is deep. And damaging.

It is so strong, in fact, that it had pulled Derek from his overwhelming rage at the imbecilic assfaces that he had so desperately wanted to attack. It's not really his fault, he reasons, that he had reacted in such a way. Derek was definitely not prepared to be privy to such hostility toward his Soulmate this way. Obviously, he has seen his fair share of immature disdain when Peter was Claimed, but that? From a group of pimple-faced fuckers? 

And the way they talked about Stiles. Could they not see him clearly? Were they all blind and scentless? Derek knows logically they aren't, but he still feels compelled to wonder after treating him like... Well, like a pariah. Even if they weren't Claimed, Derek would have to appreciate the natural appeal of the boy. His scent of coffee and anxiety and rebellion, his long agitated fingers, the stretch of his pale neck, and those ungodly moles. 

Honestly, could they be blind?

However, what really incited Derek's wrath had been the dull, familiar ache of isolation and ridicule that had echoed heavily through Stiles' mind and body. It had been so easily overlooked that Derek was sure he hadn't even noticed his instinct to ignore it. The fact that someone so young and innocent of wordly evil could be so kindred with emotions so desolate had Derek howling in agony. It wasn't okay, and it isn't okay.

And Derek will do whatever it takes to keep that from being normal for another person in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is bullied about having a Soulmate, specifically due to the fact that Derek is a man and 'wolf. He is explicitly 'slut-shamed' and his sexual orientation is attacked.
> 
> Again thank you guys a thousand times for all the love. It means the world to me! 
> 
> So what did you guys think? I personally LOVE protective trope, but I try to stay away from possessive cause that ain't for me.


	6. Damaged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title song by black flag

Derek has been thinking about this for weeks now. How can he help Stiles without him realizing it? He knows that Stiles would clam up the second he thought Derek was getting at all serious about their Bond. But he had felt that pain as real as if it was his own. 

So, Derek has devised a plan. He's going to have to be very sneaky -- which is not his forte -- but he figures he can pull it off.

They still haven't talked much, and it's been about a month and a half since Derek got to town. He is familiarizing himself with the town and the people once again. He had thought it would've been harder to adjust, but the toughest part of Beacon Hills so far has been Stiles. Lydia says that's usually the case, but Derek thinks that's fine because the first part of his plan requires as little interaction with the kid as possible. 

Of course it hasn't been all that pleasant for him, Stiles treating him like an unfortunate houseguest that won't leave him alone. And he refuses to admit to anyone, despite Erica's nagging, that it's getting to him. But it's getting to him. The kid is all he thinks about, can't even imagine the psychological consequences of intentionally hurting him, and Stiles has made it his life goal to make him feel as unwelcome in his life as he can. Derek is just about ready to call it a lost cause and move on. Surely soulmates can find happiness in life without their partner...

Still, something about his boisterous, carefree laughter and boyish grin make Derek think twice. Even in his most uncharitable moments, Stiles has maintained a tight hold on Derek, a draw that keeps him hoping.. Anyway, it doesn't hurt that the constant discomfort of the bond is eased ever so slightly for any amount of time they spend together. 

Derek suspects this will be his winning ally in getting to know Stiles. 

 

~

 

The first thing anyone knows about Stiles is that he hates to be on the losing side of an argument. The second thing is that he pretty much always is. Now, this does  _not_ relate to his accuracy in facts and general knowledge, but usually has something more to do with the fact that Stiles has a very unique way of interpreting everything. And that way of interpretation tends to be controversial.

This isn't his fault! He is just seeing things the way they ought be seen, and if that ruffles some feathers, then so be it. Stiles learned a long time ago -- somewhere between his dad becoming the Sheriff and his mom dying in a hospital bed -- that it's always necessary to be stronger on the inside than the outside. And for the majority of his life, Stiles' family has tolerated and (for the most part) respected this quirk.

But this is first time in a while that they have gone this long with disapproving of his behavior. It's honestly starting to make him feel like a little kid again, throwing a fit. 

He's not crazy, okay, Stiles gets it. This is his Soulmate here, the person whose soul is destined to accompany his for all eternity. That's not some roll-out-of-bed-for-a-date guy that you ghost for the smallest reason. But Stiles doesn't think that's what he's doing. Sure, he's been a little sulky, but that's to be expected right? Not according to his family.

"We're having them over for dinner tonight," Melissa says with finality.

"What 'them'? Who ' _them_ '? What who?" Stiles bursts in a very dignified tone.

"Your  _Soulmate_ , dum-dum. You didn't think you could pretend like it never happened, did you?" Boyd responds in tolerating amusement.

Stiles unironically chooses to ignore that. He sits up in his seat indignantly. "Why am I the last to know this?"

"Because you would've found a way out of it," his father counters in a matter-of-fact kind of tone. He and his wife stand side by side at the sink quietly disapproving of their youngest son.

Stiles hates that they're being this way. He hates that they don't trust him to handle it. Hates that they're taking things into their own hands, but most of all, Stiles hate this feeling in his gut that he gets every time Derek is brought. His skin feels tingly and he gets a massive head rush, like the guy's fucking Brad Pitt. Then, when they look at him with that disappointment and frustration, his stomach sours. Yeah. He hates that. 

"Fine," Stiles sniffs, "When do they get here?"

~

Derek was not aware that they were having dinner at the Stilinski's house. Had he been informed he would've insisted against it. Annoyance at his friend sets his teeth on edge as he attempts to salvage his plan. "He's not going to want us there."

"Well, seeing as how Stiles has actively fought against this relationship from the second the two of you bonded..." Erica pauses to take a much needed breath, "That's not much of a surprise, nor is it a concern. We've already all come to terms with the fact that the kid is a moron."

Derek begins to panic, desperation choking him. "This isn't the way. You'll mess everything up." 

"Oh, don't let Stiles' flare for the dramatics rub off on you, Der." A bang from behind him has Derek turning around to watch his baby sister come flouncing out into the living area.

The women stands on either side of him with piercing stares. Derek sighs in defeat, chest pounding as nerves dance up his limbs at the thought of seeing Stiles again. His stomach churns from all the conflicting emotions the boy brings up in him. Excitement, apprehension, dread, fear, hope...

As his pack walks him out of the apartment and toward the car, Derek compromises that he'll ignore Stiles all night and get through dinner in one piece.

 

~

 

"So Stiles," Erica says expressively, redirecting the dialogue to the kid for what feels to Derek like the millionth time tonight. "How are your friends at school?"

"What friends?" Scott mumbles resentfully from across the table. Only Derek and the other 'wolves hear him.

"Good, I guess," Stiles slowly responds, with a tone that suggests a total lack of friendliness. Derek feels himself bristling towards the kid once again. How can he feel such powerful and opposing emotions toward a person at the same time?

A squeak of surprise from Stiles draws the attention of most of the people in the room, and for the first time tonight, Derek allows himself a glance in his direction. Even with his annoyance at Stiles's treatment of his pack mates, any signals of distress from him has Derek in a frenzy. One (annoying) part of his thoughts have already jumped to avenues of comfort and protection as Derek's gaze instantly recognizes the signs of a kid being chastised for naughty behavior. The Sheriff's beefy hand rests awkwardly on Stiles's neck where he had presumably just pinched him.

"I mean, practice is lame as usual... but Lydia is good. Brilliant, also as usual."

The Sheriff looks somewhat appeased as he turns back to his wife. They share a look of resignation (something Derek is starting to find familiar around Stiles). Erica just barely covers her eye-roll, and Stiles's brothers turn back to their respective plates.

The person that seems to have no apparent reaction to the halfhearted exchange is Cora. Her face is oddly serene as she continues to gaze at Stiles.

"I don't know about you guys, but I'm so excited for the National Supernatural Conference. Mrs. Cox told me that they're holding it in San Diego this year."

This statement from his sister means very little to Derek, but the reactions that it gets from the people around him--most of which were so immediate and potent that he felt momentarily disarmed--clue him in that this wasn't necessarily the thing to say.

Not by far the most important emotion emitting came Melissa and Boyd. While hers was mainly a deepening concern directed--as far as Derek could tell--toward Scott, Boyd's was mostly annoyance and exasperation.

Also not incredibly potent was the reaction from John Stilinski, whose heart beat stuttered a few seconds after the word "supernatural". Derek sensed his causal apprehension, as if the word itself would have some heinous entrance.

A largely more powerful reaction came from Scott. Now this one was much harder for Derek to decipher, as the initial emotions seemed to be anxiety and defiant resentment. They weren't powerful enough, though, to hide the deep sense of betrayal, feeling of guilt and deep burden that he held.

However, above all other responses was the all-consuming tsunami of emotion that radiated from Stiles. The dread, anxiety, self-loathing and fear were a tangy, sour taste in Derek's mouth--and there was no way he was the only one who smelled it. On top of that, Derek's keen senses now pick up on the tenseness in his body that seems to close him off the from the portion of the table where the other four teenagers sit. His reaction reminds Derek of someone instinctively avoiding a beating. 

Unfortunately, something tells Derek that his Soulmate is likely anticipating more of a mental onslaught than physical.

For a split-second, his familial instinct almost has him raising his hand toward Stiles, but he pulls himself to his senses in time. Instead, he stares helplessly at the boy, only knowing that the need to protect and comfort has somehow amplified to a deafening level.

"Basically the whole school is going." Cora continues, as if nothing has happened, though she can't be unaware, Derek reasons.

"Hey Derek! Why don't you sign up to chaperone," she finally says, with a far too innocent tone, "That way, you can come with us!"

"Oh, what a great idea," Melissa breathes with genuine enthusiasm (Based on her earlier reaction, Derek's guess is that she like the idea of having a buffer between her two youngest sons). "I was just talking with Natalie Martin the other day, and they need a few more volunteers or they'll have to cancel the trip."

"I--I..." As all eyes turn to Derek, he finds himself at a loss for words. His initial instinct is to urn to family for help, but by the looks of Erica, she was in on this little play of Cora's. 

As seconds tick by in silence, Derek's panic eases and he begins to realize how badly this could derail his plan. How could avoid Stiles if he's shipped off to San Diego with him? Then again, as a chaperone at a national conference, he may never even spend five full minutes with the kid and still be able to watch out for him...

To his dismay, Erica must decide he is taking too long to think it out because she abruptly cuts into his silence to accept the proposal in his place.

"Perfect!" Melissa exclaimed, "Ill call Natalie after dinner."

> And with that, Derek knows his fate is sealed.


	7. Lone Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Name of title is a song by The Front Bottoms
> 
> Sorry for such a long delay, College is hard

"So what exactly is the National Supernatural Conference?" Derek asks as his sister, her girlfriend and he trudge through the doorway with groceries in tow. He’s been wanting to ask since dinner, but he’s held off, feeling like an Alpha ought to know a little bit about something called The National Supernatural Conference.

"It's an event held every year for high school students who are Supernatural or have supernatural family members," Lydia explains in a sage tone, adding, "They basically hold a bunch of different informational meetings, meet and greets, and have games and galas. It's supposed to promote education of supernatural creatures and help them with bullying and isolation."

“Plus, it helps people get to know other creatures and creates contacts, yada-yada.”

Derek glances at Cora, who is busy putting away the groceries, sorting through each plastic bag individually. He feels his chest clench uncomfortably, thinking about how important an event that would be and how it would’ve been his responsibility to make sure his baby sister got to have it. She doesn’t so much as flinch while talking about it, but Derek wonders how much she has missed out on and how much she resents him for it.

He wishes so badly he had been a better brother, a better Alpha. The yearning stirs his new supernatural connection and makes him even more keen to be there for Stiles. Derek hates to admit how easily he could fall into taking care of his mate, like some hen mother. He knows Stiles can take care of himself, but he wants to be the one to do it.

And he really wants to go to this conference. If nothing more than to keep an eye out for the kid, make sure he gets the kind of experiences and contacts that he and his sister haven’t. Still, he knows the second Stiles gets a whiff (figuratively) of Derek’s devotion, he’ll bolt in the other direction. So Derek has to find a way to be close by, but without seeming like he wants to be.

Should be real easy.

-

Not for the first time since dinner, Melissa and the Sheriff discuss the implications of Derek chaperoning at the conference. Her mood has been highly improved at the thought and it has shown.

“Honestly, thank god. You know how I’ve been dreading this trip, and having to send the boys off by themselves. What might happen if we’re not there?” Melissa takes a breath, not noticing her husband’s expression. “But with Derek there, we can relax! There’s no way Stiles is going to act out in front of him. And if anything happens, he’ll be able to keep him in line.”

She finally looks at John, waiting for a response, but all he gives is a slight nod.

“What is it?”

“I’m just worried about how Stiles is going to handle the conference. Surrounded by all kinds of powerful beings... it’s hard enough for him to deal with being the only human sibling.”

Melissa’s smile drops abruptly, understanding flooding her. She had been so worried about Scott’s feelings being hurt by Stiles, she hadn’t even thought about the enormity of Stiles likely being the only human at the whole conference.

“Oh, John. He’ll be alright.” At the lack of response, she adds tentatively, “Have you asked him about staying behind?”

“You know Stiles,” John says shaking his head. “It would only make it worse.”

“Of course the conference is for everyone, family of the supernatural are welcomed. They go through their own kind of prejudice and isolation. It’s important for him to be there, too.”

John nods sadly, “After we found out about Boyd, it turned out Claudia’s great aunt was supernatural.”

“Really?”

He nods again, continuing, “Claud was so surprised that her family had been able to keep it a secret for so long, but they didn’t have things like the NSC back in those days. The supernatural were in hiding, hunters were everywhere.”

Melissa watches her husband closely. He didn’t talk much about Claudia, except with their son. She knows that it’s hard for him to think back on her last months. She sits respectfully next to him.

“It would’ve changed everything, having something like that to help her family figure out how to support her.” He paused, likely thinking back on some conversation or story. “Stiles’s brothers need this. And Stiles does too.”

Melissa murmured her agreement.

“We just have to trust that everything will be alright.”

-

“Go, McCall, go!”

Scott races up the field, feeling his blood pounding in his ears. His vision tunnels out, focusing on every minuscule detail of the landscape before him. His skin tingles as an opponent approaches on his right, and he swerves expertly. The noises of the other players, his teammates’ calls, all filter through in a clear, but distant way. One last hurtle and—

“Woooooo!”

Cheers and boos erupt from around him, and Scott focuses back on the team. With the ball in the net, he relaxes and accepts his applause. The rush is so good, he seems to forget all his worries.

The field smells dewy, of his sweat and wet grass, and the adrenaline and determination of sports, but from across the field Scott picks up a different scent.

Of course, he’s used to it by now. The smell of jealousy and shame. He can almost read his brother’s mind now a days, with the way his emotions pour out of him. He resents Scott’s powers, but he’s ashamed of it. That might make up for it, except that Stiles still treats Scott like he’s a snob.

Scott remembers when he and his brother were best friends. With only 4 months age difference, they were inseparable. They shared a room with bunk beds, played video games all weekend long, ran around in the backyard trying to play one-on-one lacrosse games. They read the same comics and crushed on the same girls. Stiles was Scott’s best friend in the world. He shared everything with him.

Until he hit puberty.

The ‘wolf was one thing that Scott could never share. And he wouldn’t, even if he could. When Scott first changed, it was hell. He felt like his body was being torn apart over and over, and then regenerated back into a sensitive, weak Human. His body started changing, growing hair and height faster than any of the other boys. His hormones were all over the place, much stronger than normal pubescent kids.

On top of everything, Scott was totally isolated from his peers. Even if they would’ve had him, he was now a danger. If he got angry too fast, he might accidentally shift and hurt someone. He had to sit at a special table at lunch, and he was moved out of his usual classes. Scott was one of the first to turn in his year, so the only other kid in the class for awhile was Jackson—who had hated him.

The first few years were the worst of Scott’s life, besides his dad leaving. And Stiles was there, at first. Scott remembers being able to smell Stiles’s excitement and wonder. He was so curious, he couldn’t stop poking and prodding for information. But after a few weeks, that began to fade and Scott started to smell something else on his brother—a weird kind of sadness, not envy, but insecurity maybe. Scott slowly started to understand that Stiles felt less than him.

That hurt. Scott never wanted to be the reason Stiles felt unworthy. He talked to his parents, and they said they would handle it. And it did help, because Stiles was back to laughing and joking with him like before. But as the months went on, the smell didn’t fade.

Then, in the next year, Scott met Kira. Over the summer, Boyd had started showing Scott how to handle his new powers, and it wasn’t long before he had mastered them—with the help of Stiles. So by eighth grade, Scott had grown into his new strength. He was one of the tallest and modest popular boys in his grade. And Kira noticed.

Of course, they started out friends, but Scott’s admiration for her wit soon convinced him to ask her out. They were a couple by mid year.

That’s when Scott started noticing the bitter, smelly cloud that followed his brother around. At first, he couldn’t even place it, but it was soon clear that Stiles was incredibly jealous. Underneath that was shame for his envy, and under that, was hurt. Scott realized Stiles felt left behind by him.

It was horrible, knowing his best friend thought he had left him out, moved on from him. He somehow felt responsible, like it was his fault that he turned and Stiles didn’t. But he was still just a kid; Scott had no idea how to make Stiles feel better. Besides, it never showed in his words. Stiles went on talking to him about his crushes and asking him to use his new powers to steal video games for him. Scott never knew how to approach the subject without making everything worse.

Just like with his jealousy, it wasn’t over night that Stiles started resenting Scott for his good fortune. Scott has always wondered if avoiding talking to him about his emotions may have caused that. He had thought that Stiles just needed time to come to terms with the new situation, that it was best not to flaunt his new self in front of him, but it had the opposite effect. They still spent all their time together and their close friends, but there was this invisible wall that kept them from anything too deep. Scott always knew Stiles was trying not to let his feelings affect their friendship, but he still seemed to flinch anytime anyone talked about werewolves.

So, it’s been that way ever since. When Scott found out about Stiles’s Soulmate, he hoped that might help him feel special and push him out of his funk, but it obviously had only fed whatever anger Stiles held.

Now, thinking about the NSC, Scott can’t help feeling that same misguided guilt and his own wave of annoyance. Of course, he knows how inconsequential Stiles might feel surrounded by all different supernatural creatures, but that shouldn’t mean that Scott can’t enjoy meeting some people like him and finally feeling accepted.

Scott sighs deeply, pushing down the lump formed from the thought of his best friend, and turns toward the locker room.

Maybe Derek being there will help Stiles feel worthy. Or maybe things will just get worse.

-

Stiles watches Scott turn and starting walking up the field toward the gym with his head down. The team catches up, trying to pull him into the fold, but he brushes them off. For a second, Stiles feels a twinge. A few months ago, Stiles would be right beside Scott, teasing him out of his bad mood. That’s how it had always been, and Stiles never wanted that to change.

It’s just that every time Stiles thinks maybe he can get over this whole werewolf thing, somebody has to go and throw it in his face how amazing it is that both of his brothers are ‘wolves, and how Lydia’s a banshee, and Jackson’s a kamina, and Kira’s a kitsune. And Stiles is... kind of funny.

And the way Scott looks at him sometimes. He can’t pin point exactly what it means, but it makes his insides writhe.

Stiles slowly starts his way up the hill. He would give anything to go back the way things were, when he had his best friend and his girlfriend and his family was semi-functional.

But as he’s already seen, fate’s got other plans.

-

As he’s leaving the field, Stiles thinks he hears something behind him. He looks back to check the line of woods, but there is no sign of life, not even a ruffling of the leaves.

-

Derek knows it’s a risk coming to Stiles’s practice. If Stiles saw him, he’d think he was being stalked, which probably wouldn’t add to Derek’s appeal. Honestly though, he hadn’t even come for Stiles; he had been thinking a lot about his pack lately and how he wishes it was more traditional in some ways.

Ever since Derek became Alpha he had been running from the responsibility, from his sister, from his past. Giving Erica and Isaac the bite had been so impromptu, barely planned at all—and if he’s honest, he had hoped having other pack mates around might help Peter. Still, it had given them all a second chance, and Derek has started to appreciate that more.

Meeting Scott and Boyd had made Derek realize that there are lots of ‘wolves out there with no Alpha. Having no Alpha is one of the biggest things to drive werewolf to depression. ‘Wolves need community and leadership, and Derek hasn’t been giving his pack the kind of support that they must crave.

He’s been thinking about it for awhile now, and he’s finally decided to ask Scott and Boyd to be part of his pack. Of course the rest of the family would be pack as well, but the acceptance isn’t really official until the werewolves concede.

Derek had already talked to Boyd one night when Erica had him over for dinner. He has watched the way the two already seemed to move in tandem, their movements echoing and responding to each other. They were like perfect opposites, cut from the same cloth, but still complements of each other.

Derek has never seen Erica so in sync, or so happy. His voice seemed to calm her, his touches excite her. Even though Boyd is quiet and serious, and Erica sarcastic and brash, it was suddenly obvious how perfect a match they were. And Derek couldn’t help himself. He asked right there in the living room, and Boyd had responded with cautious intrigue. He had however told Derek that he couldn’t speak for his brother, and he wouldn’t accept unless the rest of the family did.

So Derek has come to the school to speak to Scott, and if that goes well, he’ll speak to Melissa and John.

Now he stands rock still behind a tree waiting for Stiles to disappear over the hill. Then he races up as well, but instead heads toward the gym exit closest to the parking lot. He knows that Stiles usually drives Scott to and from practice, but he’s not sure what the arrangement is now that they aren’t talking. Better not risk it.

A couple of guys walk out, laughing and fighting, before Scott appears, hair wet and head bent toward the ground. Derek has to stand in his path to get his attention.

“Hey.”

“Oh,” he says, surprised, and stops in his tracks. “Derek, hey.”

The he waits and Derek realizes he’s waiting for an explanation. Scott clearly has no idea what he’s hear for. Boyd must not have talked to him.

“Ahem, hey, Scott,” he smiles, nerves suddenly threatening to take over. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

“Oh,” Scott says again. “Of course, dude, what’s up?”

“Well, I was thinking about how you and Boyd were born Werewolf,” he starts, pulling to mind the careful thought-out speech he had planned before coming here, “And how you don’t have an Alpha.”

“Right.” Scott drags out the syllable, confirming Derek’s statement and encouraging further explanation.

“Well, I was talking to Boyd the other night, and I just figured—since we’re basically all connected now anyway—it made sense for you all to join my pack.”

Derek waits with bated breath. Scott blinks, shocked, and then takes a deep breath, giving himself time to think.

“Hm,” is all he gets out at first.

“Wow, Derek, that’s a lot,” Scott finally says, rubbing his jaw and holding his arm tightly against his chest. Derek can’t tell whether he’s pleased or unhappy with the proposal.

“Just think about it,” Derek responds. He certainly doesn’t want the young wolf to think he’s implying he needs him. “It’s a big decision. Besides I still have to talk to the rest of your family about it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” Scott says more easily now. “Sounds good. I’ll see you around then, Derek.”

“Yeah, see you.”

“Oh, and Stiles is still in the showers, so he’ll be awhile.”

Derek blinks in embarrassment at the thought. “Oh. No, that’s okay. I gotta go now too.”

-


	8. The Modern Leper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay! I'll have more soon, I promise!
> 
> Chapter title is from a Frightened Rabbit song

The Friday before the Conference Stiles had a visit from Derek at school. He had never seen Derek at the school before, and it was odd to have this larger than life person in such a mundane place. Since the moment he had stepped into the Stiles’ head, and Stiles’ life, he had been changing everything. Derek was the opposite of everything that Beacon Hills High had come to mean to Stiles. It also didn’t help that he looked like a movie star next to his peers.

His dark, smoothly spiked head was tilted toward the horizon, which was shrouded by the line of trees. His face was pinched, as usual, but his eyes were unfocused rather than sharp and keen like normal. He had a new addition to his outfit, a leather jacket likely for the recent drop in temperature, and his hands were buried in the pockets. Stiles was so absorbed in his examination he had realized that he’d stopped walking. He started back, adjusting his trajectory to put Derek in his path.

Derek blinked when he stopped in front of him. He must’ve been lost in thought.

“Hey,” Stiles prompted.

“Ahem, hey,” said Derek, pushing off of his sleek black car and pulling himself to his full height. “I wanted to see if we could talk for a bit.”

Stiles glanced back the way he came, seeing all his classmates filtering out and staring unashamedly at them. He turned back to Derek with some color in his cheeks. “Here?”

Derek had deftly followed his gaze and was already moving to usher them away from the school. “Walk with me?”

“Sure.”

The silence was cordial, had been less and less hostile, but Derek still ran over everything he wanted to say in his head thousands of times before he actually felt ready to speak. Stiles too stared blandly at the sidewalk in front of them, self-consciously picking at the drawstring of his hoodie.

“There’s actually something I wanted to ask you about—that I’ve talked to your family about already.”

Stiles heart quickened at Derek’s words, breath shortening in anticipation. He warred with himself, embarrassed by his weird school-crush reaction.

“What’s up?” He asked, hoping for nonchalance.

“Well, you know that I’m—an Alpha,” Stiles noticed the way Derek’s flow broke up at the word, “And that most Werewolves want or need one.”

“I took 5th grade, Derek. I learned about pack dynamics.”

“Heh,” Derek allowed himself a nervous laugh, hoping the joke was in good nature. “Well, a lot of times, when a ‘wolf is born into a family that hasn’t had an Alpha in many generations, another Alpha will sometimes ask them to join their pack. The larger a pack, the stronger the wolves, ya know—all that.”

“Sure,” Stiles accepted, confused with the conversation topic. He certainly hadn’t seen this coming.

As if giving in, Derek let out a huge breath and spoke, “I asked Boyd and Scott to join my pack. And your parents, too. Of course, they won’t agree if you aren’t comfortable. And I would only want it to be that way. Of course.”

He finished, gasping for a breath, turning to look Stiles in the eyes at the last part. Stiles felt like he was trapped in a very intimate exchange, as if the gaze was meant to transfer some secret message.

Derek stared intently, wanting to speak more but unsure if it would be too much. Did Stiles need more assurance or space to think? He never knew how to go with these things. Without thinking, he planted a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, the fabric under his skin stiff and cold from the wind. He felt a tension in his chest, the discomfort tightening as the time passed.

Stiles’ whole mind was on the warm, strong hand on his shoulder and the mixture of excitement and urge to fall into the offer of comfort. It was also a big surprise to feel that the only thing he felt toward Derek’s words was an embarrassing amount of disappointment. How could he expect anything from someone he had been pushing away since they met? And he didn’t even want anything from him in the first place, right? Right?

After another moment when Stiles realized he was expected to respond, he said, “Oh.”

Some tension loosened in Derek at the lack of explosion, and he pulled his arm away in relief. Still, he hadn’t really gotten a response. “How, um, how do you feel about that?”

“Yeah, I mean...” Stiles said, glancing quickly at his shoulder from the lack of pressure and just as quickly away. “I guess... It makes sense, for the guys. You’re the closest to a familial Alpha they’ve got.”

“And how do you feel?”

Stiles looked up in surprise. Derek’s face was strangely open, in a way he hadn’t seen before. He didn’t know why, but he said, “I mean, I guess it’s a little weird, you being my Soulmate and all, and I know there’s a relationship between Alphas and pack mates that I can never compete with, but—“

Stiles stopped, blood flooding his face and neck. He hadn’t really meant to say that part, or realized how possessive it would sound.

“Or whatever, man, you know what I mean. It’s cool.”

He jokingly punched Derek’s shoulder, stepping sideways to hide his face in the process. He didn’t see the expression on Derek’s face, luckily for Derek, because he was sure it revealed way too much of what he’s been trying to hide.

He decided to play along, make a joke of what they both must be aware of by now.

They definitely had some feelings.

“We  _are_  Soulmates, Stiles.” Derek hits back even more lightly. “Pretty sure that trumps most other relationships.”

“Yeah, and that’s made us ‘besties’  _for sure_.”

“Hey! Don’t blame the universe for you being impossible to be friends with—“

“Oh, me? I’m the one being impossible? Mr. Big, Furry, Mean Eyebrows? You can’t even eat a whole meal without growling at someone!”

And for a moment, as they laughed and prodded at each other, narrowly avoiding the reality of their jokes, it was easy and friendly and the two could see how maybe the universe hadn’t been all that off.

And they both silently vowed, for different reasons, to never admit it aloud.

-

The county provided buses for any students or chaperones that needed transportation, but at the last minute Derek offered to rent a car for the Sheriff and Melissa, so that they didn’t have to ride with a bus full of teenagers. He did, however, make Erica and Isaac ride along with the others, hoping they would socialize. Stiles had almost considered asking to join them, but decided against it. The ride to San Francisco with 20 other (supernatural) teenagers would have to do. He made sure not to forget his handheld PlayStation, a few dozen books, and his headphones.

As the rowdy, excitement-tinged bus pulled in to the hotel parking lot, Stiles felt his first powerful anxieties about his attendance at the Conference. He would after all likely be the only Human kid there, and he wasn’t sure how willing his brothers, especially Scott, would be to hang out with him the whole week. The scent of his emotions must’ve been particularly potent amongst all the inhibition-reducing excitement of the supernatural kids, because a few of his classmates began to give him sidelong glances. As Stiles fought to ignore them, he began gathering his books and other belongings and making his way to the front of the bus. Unfortunately that meant passing by Jackson, who was just waking up from a nap and was in the mood for a good laugh.

“Whoa, Stiles,” he exclaimed, drawing attention from every last person on the bus. “You getting a little nervous about being stuck in a building filled with stronger, faster, and more dangerous people than you could ever hope to be?”

Stiles snorted derisively. “I don’t have a problem with the supernatural, Jackson, I just have a problem with dicks.”

Jackson lunged for Stiles’ face, fist raised, only stopping inches away when Stiles flinched back. His face and arm relaxed as he and his friends laughed meanly. His eyes stayed glued to Stiles’, assuring him without a doubt that they had all heard the hitch in his heartbeat to signal his fear. Stiles turned his gaze away, body filled with frustration and shame. He quickly readjusted his backpack on his shoulder and pushed out the bus door.

-

Meanwhile, Derek was listening to the Doors’ _Light My Fire_ for the third time and seriously considering jumping out of a rolling vehicle. The trip up had been quite enlightening into the relationship of Melissa and John, in a way that made Derek almost regret every choice that had led him to be their almost son-in-law. For six straight hours the couple had argued over everything from what songs to play to how involved they needed to be in their children’s activity this week. He couldn’t be sure, but Derek thought that Melissa was winning.

“John, this is their opportunity to network, make friends, bond with one another.” She paused here, “It’s also an opportunity for us to get more information and meet other parents of supernatural kids.”

“Fine. We’ll play it your way. All I’m saying is that a group of teenagers all staying in a hotel for a week is the exact type of situation that ends with me breaking up parties and driving drunk kids home to their parents.”

Derek deftly pressed the volume button on the wheel to turn the music up, which wouldn’t keep him from hearing the conversation, but was polite and made humans feel more comfortable. They had no need to worry, as Derek’s mind was far away from their discussion anyway. He was starting to feel Stiles’ anxiety about the Conference, which made sense as the bus would be pulling into the hotel right about now. Before leaving the house this morning, Derek had been feeling the same emotion coming from Stiles’ dreams. He had told Cora about it, and she had made the observation that Derek seemed to be becoming more and more in tuned with Stiles’ emotions lately. Ever since, he hasn’t thought of much else. He suspects it has to do with his openness toward the Soulmate bond. It is strengthening on his end.

What else is strengthening is his animal instinct to protect, to nurture. Derek has felt every jolt in that bus’s route and has desperately wanted to wrenching the rental car’s door open and race for Stiles every time. Restraint. Derek is learning more about it than in the twenty-two years he’s been alive. Stiles needs this to be slow, to happen naturally. Fine, Derek can do slow. It just might kill me, but he can do it.

Finally, they arrive at the hotel an hour before the opening introduction seminar. Grabbing their keys from the lobby, they ride the elevator to the fourth floor to change in their rooms before they have to head back down.

“Now, Derek. Here’s the key to the kids’ rooms, you’ll probably see them before we do. They may have gotten their spare keys when they got here, but all the students will be downstairs right now. Stiles and Scott have room 203, Boyd has 205, and yours is 201. They all connect, in case of an emergency.”

With that, Melissa and John went into their room. Derek turned to his door, entered, and dropped his bag on the bed. It had been an insanely stressful morning, dealing with twice the amount of emotions. Without thinking, he shouldered off his light jacket and began to unbutton his shirt. Without even looking around the room, he grabbed a towel off the counter and headed for the door across from his bed. Instead of seeing an empty, inviting shower, Derrek was faced with a shirtless Stiles who turned to the door and shrieked, shielding his chest with a hand towel.

Derek would then realize their shared embarrassment and apologize, but not before a few slow motion seconds before though kicked in, when his roved over his Soulmate’s body. This pale white chest with dark moles and a sprinkling of hair, subtle outlines of muscles that the shadows played with as his breath moved in and out, a little trail of hair disappearing beneath his pants, a flush of color trailing down his neck. Derek felt his own skin heat, but not with embarrassment. Not yet.

“Shit,” he heard himself growl, voice thick and croaky, his tone intimating exactly where his thoughts were.

The startled expression on Stiles’ face shifted at that, eyebrows arching just a bit, and there was an uptick in the corners of his lips as he asked, “What?”

“Shit,” Derek repeated, this time out of pure humiliation, “Sorry.”

The humor in Stiles’ eyes deepened, but then his gaze was also lowering, following the hem of Derek’s dress shirt, which was now fifty percent unbuttoned. Derek went stiff with awkwardness at his own indecency, but refused to follow Stiles’ gaze. The tension coiled like a taut string between them, both pushing and pulling in directions. There was also a subtle but significant amount of arousal in the small space between them, and a quick sniff told Derek it wasn’t all him. He shifted his weight nervously, and cleared his throat. “Sorry, I was going to shower.”

“Right, right,” Stiles choked out, shaking his head like a cartoon. “I guess it’s a shared bathroom…”

“Yeah…” Derek responded, trailing off awkwardly.

“Well, _dibs.”_

Derek took a step back, slamming the door shut behind him. He could feel the heat rising in his face as he replayed what just happened and how stupid he must’ve looked. Still, the sight of Stiles’ naked chest had been more than he was accounting for. There was no way around it, that boy was gorgeous and Derek was deeply interested in him, Soulbond or not. He’d never been great at romance before, and even now wasn’t exactly sure how to handle so much direct emotion. All Derek knew was his impulse, his most basic reactions, and those things were seriously out of fucking control.

From behind the door, Derek catches muffled words that interrupt his train of thought.

_“’Dibs’? ‘DIBS’? What the hell was that? A half undressed werewolf walks in on you and you say ‘dibs’?? What the actual fuck, Stiles—“_

“Stiles?” Derek couldn’t help himself calling, putting an ear to the door. Another small shriek bursts from behind the door, and Derek has to cover his mouth to keep his mirth down.

_“I’m good. I am G-O-O-D, man!”_

“I’ll just meet you downstairs for the introduction meeting, then?”

“Yep. Yep. Sounds great, dude. See ya.”

-

At the seminar, Derek quickly found his seat next to his pack. They had kindly left the last two seats on the end of the row for Stiles and himself. Not too long after, Stiles approached and ducked into the last seat, giving a Derek a brief nod without meeting his eyes. That worked to hide his thoughts for the moment as the room had a special chemical air freshener engineered to disable a ‘wolf’s heightened smell. It was a common enough occurrence during events like these, a courtesy.

The room that they were in was huge, one of the hotel’s ballrooms converted into a makeshift seminar room with a platform stage and a couple hundred chairs. Looking around, Derek could identify at least twenty different supernatural beings from kitsune to banshees to fairies and, largely, ‘wolves. The speaker on the agenda tonight would be Bodhi Unix, a shape-shifter turned public speaker and supernatural awareness advocate, the title of whose speech is _Monsters Mash._ He stands near the stage, his face nervously shimmering in and out of focus.

“Hello all Supernatural friends, and let me give a warm welcome,” A man’s voice boomed out of the speakers as he jaunted confidently down the middle aisle. “My name is Moonjig Gentlestar, and I will be co-hosting this year’s National Supernatural Conference here in sunny San Diego!”

A big clap for Gentlestar, who upon close inspection, Derek could see was a fairy under some enchantment for ordinary human size. If he stared hard enough, he could catch the shimmery vagueness of the edges of Gentlestar’s silhouette.

“Now, this week we are going to be having an amazing time with a total of 14 panels, 7 seminars, and meet-and-greets and events happening every day. There will also be a gala on Friday night after our mandatory Social Wellness seminar at 6:30. Some other great features of the hotel include the pool and hot tub, massage and spa room, a restaurant and bar area, and a tennis court in the back. So you definitely won’t be getting bored!”

A big laugh for Gentlestar, who by had climbed the stage and skipping lightly around it. He was a real showboat, this guy.

“What a tool,” he heard Stiles whisper. He sounds like the host of a game show.”

Derek found himself snickering in spite of his role as Alpha, and a quiet trickle of laughter spread through the rest of the pack, who had also heard the comment. Derek then heard Scott mumble an over the top imitation, but Stiles’ weak human ears missed it.

“Now, as we are all powerful and important members of this conference, I want to begin with a quick introduction to the rules and guidelines for the week. And remember kids, if at any point a student, chaperone, or other member of this Conference breaks any of these rules, they will be immediately asked to leave and possibly even banned from returning next year.”

A babble of condescending jeers caught Derek’s attention, and he glanced back to see a group of teenagers including Jackson Whittemore. They seemed to be making fun of the speaker and a kid a few rows up intermittently. Derek was already aware of Jackson’s pseudo-friendship with Scott and the others, and how he had a particular fondness for picking on Stiles. He was one of the reasons that had compelled Derek to chaperone this thing, the idea that Stiles might be a target for not being supernatural. Now he could see he had definitely been right. Though he knew he couldn’t just come right out and do anything in front of Stiles—that would just spook him—Derek thought he could find more subtle ways of keeping the boys in check.

**Author's Note:**

> btw, if anyone is interested, I am on tumblr user obriensbetch


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